


Children of Ash

by iamsmall



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark Jonerys I guess?, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jonerys Endgame, Morally Ambiguous Character, Original Character(s), Post 8x06, References to Depression, Resurrection, Shoutout to everyone that said they wanted Dany to rebuild Valyria because here I gooooo, Slow Burn, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, hints at Targaryen restoration, my emotional support bitter fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2020-05-16 19:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 75,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamsmall/pseuds/iamsmall
Summary: Creation starts with destruction.[this is a dark tale of love, trauma, resurrection, and restoration]





	1. Nothing Else Matters

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza. Thank you baby for continuously supporting everything I write. Gosh I am scared.
> 
> Trigger Warning for suicidal thoughts, attempts, and self-harm (accidental I guess but a warning none the less). 
> 
> If you are looking for a happy story straight through, this is not for you, my friend. If you are looking for something morally correct, close the tab, sis. This is not _too_ Stark friendly... this is Jonerys centered so if you aren't Team Targ, then this is not for you. Check out my other jonerys fic for my baby wolves coming again, but this one.... if you are looking for an epic Jon & Fam relationship, sorry. 
> 
> This is not a Jon hate fic, so if you are super hateful towards Jon right now, also not for you. And vice versa for Dany.
> 
> I do hope you guys will enjoy my emotional support bitter fic where I give my otp everything they should have gotten.

**C.1**

_**Nothing Else Matters** _

Jon's POV

 

The _first year_ was the simplest.

It had taken Jon Snow a moon and a half to ride up to Castle Black, trotting through the Riverlands, passing Moat Calin, then galloping through the Gift until he’d see in the faint distance the great wall that frequented his nightmares.

He’d never visit half these locations again so, to be expected, it was quite a somber ride with his guards, who’d left a few days after they rested and watered their stallions.

He didn’t think too much after seeing Tormund, only helping the braver Free Folk move out past the wall little by little and aided the ones that stayed within the walls.

 

It was not until the _second year_ that trauma swallowed him whole.

Jon supposed that the emptier the castle became, the hollower he felt, burdened with his past.

He thought he was fine until his nights begun to be heavy with thoughts of all those he could not save, ultimately turning sleepless. When that was too much to bear, he started wandering the grounds.

The little Free Folk that remained were beginning to think him a ghost and Jon thought that he might be; a ghost of himself drifting through the phases of the moon, neither thinking nor reasonable. It was fitting as his wolf stalked his every turn.

Ghost quietly whined protests when Jon eventually ended up in the spot he’d done good on avoiding; the location at which he was murdered.

Disassociation and melancholia were common according to healers, though they called it heart-sores and low spirits that were usually fed upon by _demons_.

Jon was not surprised.

He had many of those.

Feeling as if he was on the outside looking in, the sting of betrayal rushed back to him, coursing hotly through his veins. In a dark haze, he watched the blood rush out of his paling body, and then slowly fade into the silhouette of _her._

He’d been there before, twice now, _in the blackness_. His surroundings had been dimmed and obscure as his vision narrowed in on her fair skin, white hair, and eyes he could never describe.

She was a vision in the snow. And in that vision, Jon saw Dany in him, laying on the ground of the throne room, a knife lodged in her heart, drowning in a pool of her own blood.

 _The Red Keep had been ash_ , he told himself, as his body began to unconsciously rock back and forth. _It was not snow_ , he chanted. _It was the ash of the thousands she had decimated_. It was different. _It was not wrong_. He did what was right.

But who was to say what was right?

Especially when it _felt_ wrong.

Jon wired his fingers together, noises coming from deep within his throat as his face grew warm.

He pulled himself out of the daze he’d become trapped in, only to see blood on his hands, gripping the edge of a blade.

He’d hurt himself.

 

The _third year_ , Jon had been ranging beyond the wall for the Wildlings desired more space as their numbers grew.

“ _We love fucking,”_ Tormund tried to joke traveling the outskirts of the Frostfangs while Jon attempted to return a smile.

It was fucking cold, and it felt good because it made him numb.

Tiredness seeped into his chilling bones as his horse carried him further west for the harsher of the Free Folk. It had been a nice expedition until they ended up in Land of Always Winter, uncharted and devastatingly frigid.

 _Finally_ , Jon thought as his fingers began to burn in his gloves.

Tormund called for him, but he wasn’t sure if it was moments ago or hours ago because Jon was nearly certain he was blacking out.

The only thing he remembered was questioning after why anyone would wish to live in the Valley of the Thenns.

There was no longer any snow that Jon could see as his horse took careful gaits. Everything was ice, and… _unnatural_ , he thought.

The northern chill had never consumed him the way it did others. He had always had enough Stark in him to be able to tolerate the tundra, but the area he was in was excruciating.

An ice cave that looked far too eerie to have been pure was on the horizon but Jon’s horse refused to move any further.

Transfixed, his vision dimmed again…

Ghost’s howl startled him back to reality where he saw his ginger mate looking at him, wildly.

If Tormund didn’t bark at him, “The fuck you went?” Jon would have thought he dreamt it all.

“You know I like to go off alone…”

He still thought he hallucinated it all sometimes.

Tormund decided that they’d take the long way back, just the two of them, after they had dropped off groups of the wildlings in their preferred locations.

His mate wished to go to Hardhome, or what remained of it. Jon suspected that was the area the man wished to claim for his own, no matter how haunted the space was.

Jon said nothing until they passed by the mountain with the arrow-headed peak.

He knew where they were. He would never forget it.

The water had frozen over, and any devastation the dragon fire caused existed no longer. It was like they had never came.

He stopped.

“She saved us, right? I didn’t make that all up in my head?” Jon glanced at Tormund, whose face fell before giving an encouraging smile.

“-With three great beasts and nearly beat them all…”

Jon nodded and pushed on before his friend could speak again.

 

The _fourth year_ had been the worst.

It was the first time Sansa visited.

Tormund must have sent word to her. He was beginning to catch on.

“A crown, made for our house… Two dire wolves united for the two kingdoms… you see?” Sansa sat in front of him in his gloomy study with a small smile tugging at her rosy cheeks.

She had arrived with a few men that Jon made sure were fed despite his sister insisting that they brought their own rations and supplies to share.

He had just waved her off and put the provisions up for later.

“Two wolves, touching, _together_.”

Jon grimaced at the word filtering past his sister’s teeth.

 _Together_.

“It represents the union of two kingdoms, and two Starks on the thrones, but honestly… it reminds me of Robb…”

Saying nothing, Jon nodded and forced out an empathetic smile, not wishing to voice that he did not care but hoping that she would catch on to his discomfort. He could already feel his vision fading and the darkness returning for any mentions of those he had lost nipped at what remained of his wavering strength.

Jon was not her. He hadn’t a kingdom that hung on his every word anymore, and he certainly never enjoyed it. He could see it in the gleam in Sansa’s eyes when she arrived. Being royal had always suited her, fitting her like the finest silk. No matter what name he was born with, a bastard is who he is.

 _There was no reward in the world that made him desire to play any political game_ , he thought.

“Do you want us to send men up here instead of holding them in our cells, for the watch? It’s a bit… lonely up here, no?”

That snapped him out of it.

Jon sighed, “To watch what? I watch the _bloody_ stars every night.” And the moon that reminded him of her. “And aid the free folk- nothing’s up here, Sansa,” he huffed in the exhaustion he should not feel for he had all the time in the world to sleep.

“Unless His and Her Grace are commanding that I take in prisoners and train the men, you lot would be best to keep them for your armies,” Jon advised.

“You do not have to stay here. You know Bran said what he said to set you free,” Sansa reached over the table to lay a hand upon his growing hair, but Jon winced away.

He did not want to be touched, least of all by her.

And he did not deserve freedom.

He killed a woman in cold blood.

He killed a woman he loved in cold blood.

He killed the woman who saved his life _in cold blood._

There was no fight or war between them. She trusted him and he murdered her.

“You don’t look free, so come home.”

“What home?” Jon looked into his sister’s cerulean irises, detached.

“Jon… Do you hate me?” Sansa’s voice was small and her eyes wet.

For the first time, Jon thought she might feel guilt. And that was a terrible feeling, so he swallowed back the bile rising in his throat as he reached over his table and covered her palms, “No. I love you. I love you all.”

He meant it even if his voice was stony and his heart shattered.

That was the problem. He loved them all more than he ever loved himself.

“It doesn’t feel like you do…”

“I am just tired,” he rebutted, locking his jaw as he pulled his hands away sharply.

 

The _fifth year_ , Arya showed up a moon after Gendry and Davos visited him.

Gendry talked briefly about the Ironborn’s reluctance to submit, _once again_.

History had been repeating.

Dorne rebelled almost immediately after Sansa took her crown, apparently.

She thankfully never said.

“Had to update your sister on- It doesn’t matter…” Gendry waved off, watching Jon’s mood sour.

Anger had resurged and it felt good, so he motioned for the Lord of the Stormlands to continue while he focused firmly on the fire in the hearth that was in front of the three of them.

“Tyrion insisted I speak to the Ironborn since I am so ‘unalike’ my family, and pretty neutral at this point,” Gendry gave an annoyed chuckle. “Ain’t much of a politician…”

Ser Davos made sure to remind him that Baratheons weren’t much at politicking either, but Gendry dismissed the older man.

It almost made Jon laugh.

He missed them, but when Jon thought back to the bond that formed between him, his former hand, and the bastard bull, he thought back to the boat ride from the south years ago.

Emotion welled in his throat, so he shut down.

“Yara made points so I couldn’t talk her down. But it looks bad, you know? On your brother and Lord Tyrion,” Gendry finished.

“Must be awful.”

“Must be. I wouldn’t really know. I keep to myself and come when called…” The youngest of the three men picked up his goblet of ale, leaning back into his seat.

“Do you like it?” Jon asked upon the man’s lordship.

“Sometimes,” Gendry admitted, looking down. Jon could see the stress marring his forehead and he understood that all too well.

Looking in between both men, “It wasn’t my place to say anything to her back then, was it?”

There was a pause.

Davos shook his head.

“No, but I appreciate it, nonetheless. I have something to call my own and people to help. Maybe I can find a kid like me, and make sure they never go through what I went through-”

“You are a good man,” Jon said to Gendry.

“Sometimes,” his mate confessed as Ser Davos scoffed. “I am stubborn and have a mean attitude. Arya. I mean, your sister…”

Jon sat up at the man’s fumble, glancing at a knowing Davos.

“ _Lady Stark_ sailed into my port a few moons ago. She is coming here. Rode with her until we got to Harrenhall… She’s taking a scenic route. I figured I’d let you know so you can compose yourself.”

All suspicion left Jon as he wiped at his face in anxiety.

Arya would see through him immediately.

“Aye, you’re a good man. Thank you.”

 

“Jon! Jon! Wakeup!”

He was being shaken so hard he nearly fell off his bed. “What happened?!”

Arya sat back on the heels of her feet bewildered. “You were screaming.”

It was all she said for a while.

“You aren’t at all well, are you?” Her tone was grave.

“Define well…” Jon gently laid down his cloak that he grabbed in a haste. “Is that why you came here? Because you were worried?”

“I missed you,” she frowned, her eyebrows knotted in determination. “Come with me. Traveling. Sailing. Let’s get out of here. Let’s get out of Westeros.”

“This is my sentence,” Jon tucked his long curls behind his ears, avoiding her stony eyes.

“Fuck that sentence. It’s dreadful here!” Arya argued.

“It is, isn’t it?” Jon smiled, “I killed her for the better. It isn’t fuckin’ better.”

He shook his head, turning his back to her, which he realized in retrospect was an awful idea when her voice raised.

“And she was going to make it better? By what? Massacring a city.”

Jon flinched and spun back to his sister’s hard gaze.

“Better doesn’t exist, Jon. People will always be shit.”

His heart broke further.

Cynicism was awful on most people, but on Arya, it was truly ugly.

“Stop. She had made impossible things happen before.”

“She would have killed us.”

Arya used to be social and kind, making friends with everyone. Her entire disposition was full of acceptance and understanding until someone insulted her.

Jon attempted to recall what Daenerys could have said to his sister to warrant the hatred harbored before Kings Landing. _Nothing_. They barely shared more than one room.

“And it’s us against everyone, right?” Jon mused.

Arya nodded.

“If I would have had that mentality, the Night King would have had 4000 more wildlings to his army, we wouldn’t have had her, and we’d all be fucking dead. Not everyone is _all_ evil,” he snapped.

“She was.”

The dismissal in her tone simpered him down to bitter melancholia.

“When I watched Rickon die in front of me, I ran after Ramsay Bolton without hesitation. I thought not once about all the men behind me that would die because I was impulsive until it was too late-”

“She burned down a city, Jon.”

“She watched her child get murdered in front of her, and her best friend get beheaded. If I had never come to her, Kings Landing would be hers, and she probably would have eventually made her way North and still helped us.”

 _It was his fault_ , he thought. _In the end, it was his fault._

“But we don’t know-”

“Everything that happened, happened this way because of the choices we all made.” It was what Bran had remarked to him privately. “What if you would have ridden down to Kings Landing like you did anyway and murdered Cersei? What if we had all been civil like I said from the beginning instead of spreading secrets and harboring mistrust? What if we chose differently?”

“But we didn’t,” Arya bit. “And you saved us. You did what was right.”

Jon thought himself to be stupid.

Moments before he killed her, Tyrion had told him that _she believed_ that her way is what was superior, so he killed her because _he believed_ that it was not. _Not_ because she rained fire upon the capital… He had been horrified but he still walked away from that.

The hypocrisy that radiated from both him and the Imp in those moments crippled Jon most nights.

“Who is to say what is right and wrong? Because I feel like I used her, and she trusted me- saved us all, and then I killed her. And that is wrong, I think.”

His vision was blurring again, but Jon was certain it was because of the water threatening to spill from his eyes as he struggled to rationalize both his actions and current feelings.

“You saved millions. She was a tyrant. You said yourself she said people didn’t get to choose,” his sister started moving closer and he recoiled.

“That’s the consolation isn’t it?” Jon backed away, incredulous. “Her entire army and advisement had been built upon people choosing her. She was never elected or chosen just because she was some daughter of a king. They chose her because they believed in her, Arya.”

He remembered Lady Missandei standing upon the stone walkways of Dragonstone, her eyes full of both curiosity and confusion at his hesitance.

_What if the words she spoke had been heightened sentiments post battle?_

“I still _feel_ wrong. I stare at the spot where I was murdered and I see her, _murdered_.”

“And she would have _murdered_ us too. We are your family. You were protecting us.”

“ _She was my family too_ ,” Jon finally let the sob that had been festering in his throat bubble over.

Arya’s eyes became glassy.

Her head lowered.

“I didn’t protect her. Everyone told me that I would be a threat to her, and that she would want to get rid of me. Up until the very end, she said _together_. I promised her, together, and I broke that oath too,” Jon steeled himself, feeling himself begin to drown in sorrow.

“You didn’t love her like family.” Even his sister knew that at this point, all her arguments were futile for her voice croaked with protest as she tried to reach for him. And she couldn’t, because he was far away. Perhaps, physically, she could touch him, but mentally and emotionally, he was no longer around.

“I don’t know what I loved her as. I just know I didn’t love her enough.”

 

The _sixth year_ , Tormund moved back to Castle Black for a while.

Jon was blacking out incessantly and everyone knew for ravens flooded his study.

Not even the wine and ale could keep him down at night, so he spent them burning every message he got.

A council full of, perhaps, two Great War heroes was never going to be respected in comparison to the previous ones full of some of the greatest battle and political tacticians and fighters of their world.

Nobles knew nothing of a three-eyed-raven, let alone the common folk. And Jon was mildly aware that Lord Varys, before his execution, had sent messages around the continent announcing his true identity making his name whispered, no matter what.

Jon Snow. Jon _Stark_. The White Wolf. The Queenslayer. The Last Targaryen. The heir to the Iron Throne.

He felt ill.

_None of it mattered._

“Would you kill someone you love for-”

“ _It’s been years mate_ …” Tormund sat with him in the castle’s great hall in front of a roaring hearth.

Most of the wildlings had finished building their homes and towns north and along the wall.

He was mostly alone.

“You haven’t been around for a while…” Jon commented, knowing very well why Tormund was staying.

He did not deserve him.

“Had to help those idiots but I’m back for a bit,” he took a sip of the castle’s bitter ale instead of his fermented goats’ milk.

“Would you have?’ Jon pushed.

“Depends on how good at fucking she was,” he attempted to jest, before glancing at Jon’s lowering stare.

“I don’t know, crow,” the ginger nudged him. “That’s an impossible decision, but you did what you thought to be best. That has to count from somethin’.”

“Nothing’s changed. People are still fightin’.”

“People are always going to be fightin’,” Tormund sighed. “I got myself into a fight a fortnight ago. Look, I’m still bruised.

The man lifted up his fur to show the purple patch at his ribs.

Jon wanted to tell him that he was getting too old for all of that but did not actually feel like uttering the words.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you… Fuck those people? You said they cheered for your father’s beheadin’… Fuck them,” Tormund shrugged taking another sip from his drink. “She saved us from the people that smell like horse shit.” _The Lannister’s._

Jon knew his mate hated the Lion Knight that he swore stole Ser Brienne from him.

“Or… you did good? You saved us from the woman that saved us and went mad? Both are fuckin’ shit.”

Jon knew the man’s goblet was empty because he placed it on the ground and leaned back, his face serious. “You know, I saw you smile for real after the Great War… Thought I was going to see you drunk for days, _happy_ , and with six little sad yous running between your legs-”

“She couldn’t have kids-”

“She had you so wrapped around her soft delicate fingers, she had you, _crow_ , thinking about babes. Maybe she was something special,” Tormund gave a light laugh.

“No, I just- _Aye_. Would you have hated me if I didn’t kill her?”

“Free folk like strength. Ain’t nothin’ stronger than a man on a dragon, and she was a man on a dragon. But mate, _Jon_ ,” the other man exhaled. “You have got to keep goin’. Sadness doesn’t last forever but you sound like you’re looking to be sad.”

“I don’t know who I am without it,” Jon professed.

 

That night Tormund pulled him back from the edge.

“ _Crow_ , are you fucking mad?!” his mate gripped him hard to his chest.

They were both shaking as the man spun to grab at his dark curls, his blue eyes searching for answers.

_He might be._

“The snow looked soft. I wanted to sleep in it,” Jon admitted, his voice lofty.

“You can’t even see the fucking snow, Jon, _Jon Snow_. Come out of it,” Tormund shoved him into the lift.

They stared at each other until Jon cracked.

“I am sorry. I am so sorry,” he sobbed, and once the tears started, they did not stop.

Years had gone by, but everything still felt wrong.

All in his mind, he saw his battered and bruised sister run up to him in the very place he was walking by. All in his mind, he saw Arya with a blackened eye surrounded by white walkers. All in his mind, he saw Bran laying in his bed as a young boy, thought never to wake again. All in his mind, he saw Rickon get shot down. All in his mind he saw the dead rise before his eyes. All in his mind, visions of Robb and their father drifted. All in his mind, he saw the brothers he trusted stab him to death, and in his head, it made no sense that he would do it to someone else.

If the kingdoms fell, he would not blink.

Everyone had been screaming mercy and to keep the peace, but no peace was found.

And then the world moves on…

But Jon could not shake the sounds.

Was the world mad or was it him? Because all he could hear was the wailing wind and echoes of his love in his ears.

His past, the memories of his father, the ghost of his mother, and the whispers of hidden truths gathered around him, suffocating him, and he wished to go home. _Jon knew he’d find her waiting._

“It is fine. You are alright,” his mate tugged him close.

*

The midday breeze had just taken shift as the gates to Castle Black opened.

After Jon heard his Lord Commander title get called, he stood and marched down the ramp past some of the Free Folk visiting to offer provisions. He had not a clue what was going on until a great spotted stallion entered the courtyard with his sister atop, sitting regally while surrounded by Northern guards.

A sad smile tugged at his lips.

“Your Grace,” Jon strode to her side, bowing his head before he helped her down.

The travel was not easy, but she made it look so in her dusty rose gown with Godswood embroidery along the trim of her frock.

It had been three years since he had seen her, and seven since he’d returned to the Wall.

“Stop it,” his sister chided him, her red curls swinging low on her back as she motioned for her men to take her mount elsewhere.

“What is it that you are doing here?” Jon glanced around before guiding her to the Lord Commander’s tower.

Sansa ignored him, slowly waltzing through the castle as if she owned the place while the little men that remained bowed and leered at every corner until they reached his study.

Jon pushed the door open for her, and then she gestured for him to take a seat as she shut it.

When Jon did not sit, she huffed in frustration.

 _Something was wrong._ He could feel it in his bones for her eyes went from warm as she carefully stepped to embrace him, to cold when she pulled away.

He was kept at arm’s length, physically and emotionally, as she smoothed down the top of his furs and tugged at his raven curls that fell past his shoulders with a rigid smile that did not reach her irises.

“What is it?” Jon glowered.

The last person to make their way up there had been Sam. It had been shortly after Gendry and Davos.

Dark clouds of disease fell upon the south.

Jon suspected it had to do with the ash from the burnt down city and Tyrion’s insistence that people quickly move their way back to clear up the debris despite the foundation of the city being rocky, and the air possibly being unsafe.

According to Sam, theories from both him and the Citadel were in formation about the new viruses infecting what remained of Daenerys’ foreign troops. They were assuming that their bodies were not used to the common sicknesses of Westeros.

It became an issue on responsibility since they had fought for the living, making them just as entitled to the land as any Westerosi and yet, they were not being properly cared for.

“Can I not just wish to see my older brother?” Sansa questioned as her eyebrows drew together.

“No,” Jon shook his head stepping back, expression hard. Sansa was like a double-edged blade; she may care on one end but ultimately, she would push away honor and sentiments to do what she wanted done no matter who it hurt.

None of the information that had ever been given to him had been useful, it only added to his nightmares, so he hardly wished to know what else had been going wrong.

“Well,” she bristled, stepping away from him to take a seat on the chair opposite of the one behind his desk.

“Just come out with it,” Jon said tiredly moving to lean against the table.

“There has been news from Essos…”

Jon froze.

“We had been wondering why Queen Daenerys’ troops still holding Meereen hadn’t attempted to exact revenge before, especially because the realm had been so weak… and we have recently found out,” Sansa stated, removing the small dire wolf crown from the top of her head before she combed her fingers through her red tresses.

Jon waited for her to continue; his entire posture frigid.

“Tyrion had mentioned that she left a commander at her pyramid. As you know, Bran had been attempting to track the Dragon and this Daario Naharis for years and it was not until recently that he found anything anomalous.”

Blinking, Jon motioned for her to keep going but all she did was tilt her head to the side, examining his figure for any discomfort or peculiarities.

“ _Sansa_ ,” Jon cautioned.

With a sigh, his sister gritted her teeth, “We have reason to believe that Daenerys Targaryen is still alive.”

Jon lifted his chin and hardened his expression so that his sister could not see the white-hot emotion coursing through his body.

He had no idea what it was exactly that went through him, disbelief, relief, regret, anger…

Jon could not process anything but the fire flowing through his veins, journeying through him, and rendering him ill with nausea and light-headedness.

“And I am telling you this because if that is true, which we are almost certain it is, you need no longer stay here for your treasonous actions are void because she _lives_ …”

Blinking, Jon nodded slowly.

“However, I also came here to ask you to please come back home with me so you will have protection-”

“How long has she been alive? How do you know this?” Jon interrupted.

“ _Bran_ … and we can’t be sure. Most likely since she had been carried away.”

“She was dead, Sansa,” Jon turned around, feeling his words get caught in his throat and his vision slipping away from him. “I felt her take her last breath.”

Inching around the table, Jon began to organize bits of parchment to distract his hands from shaking and did so until his sisters’ ivory ones fell upon his.

Though he flinched, she held them steady.

“We believe you, but you got brought back. We believe she might have as well… There are red priestesses from all over that claim her to be their liberator…”

Jon swallowed down the vomit that was inching up his throat as he snatched his palms away.

 _“I think you should come home,_ ” Sansa exhaled.

“How long are you staying here?” Jon questioned, deflecting her statement. “I’ll have the lord’s chamber prepared for you-”

“Jon, are you listening to me?” Sansa stood, her voice raising an octave. “You might be in danger!”

“It’s been years. She knows that I am probably alive, and she still has not come to kill me. I really don’t care for politics either,” Jon gave her a strained smile.

Feeling his face burn and his entire body numb, he started towards the door before his throat closed and knees went weak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had a decent time being in Jon's head for this chapter. Don't worry, Tormund and I got our boy! We shall protect him.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Support me by leaving a comment whether it's a thank you, a heart emoji, telling me a part you liked, or a "Hey bitch, when are you going to finish Howl?" Also, talk to me if you are still bitter about your utter heartbreak for this series finale because guys, I have never felt so gutted. I went into this season being a Sansa, Gendrya, and Jonerys stan, and not hating a single character except Euron's goofy ass and literally came out only liking Dany, Gendry, and Grey Worm. Look at them turntables. 
> 
> Anyways, you may also find me on tumblr at i-am-small.tumblr.com.


	2. Fire is Catching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Darkness still exists.”  
> Daenerys wished to say, ‘in her’. Darkness existed within her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank you all for the amazing response I received for the last chapter. I have jonerys royalty in my comments and I only spent a few days crying over it, I promise... I appreciate the support so much and can't wait to respond to you all!
> 
> Here's Chapter 2, beta'ed by the lovely @aliciutza.
> 
> All mistakes are mine because I played with the chapter a bit since she took a look at it. We have a bit of a time jump here, but I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Trigger Warning for slight suicidal thoughts.

**C.2**

_**Fire is Catching** _

Dany's POV

_She’d been alone when she had awakened in Volantis on a hard-stone slab surrounded by torches beaming with fire._

_She was covered in a sheer crimson sheet, with her silver hair flowing freely over the edge of the altar._

_Feeling a burn in her, she screamed in agony remembering the fiercest dark eyes staring at her with such sorrow before she felt the puncture at her heart._

_Dany wept._

_But not for the pain of being stabbed, but for her utter heartbreak._

_Kinvara had hurried into the chamber and stroked her head as she sullied the woman’s red gown with tears, the priestess told her she still had her son left._

_And that “Darkness still exists.”_

_Daenerys wished to say, ‘in her’. Darkness existed within her._

_But the woman hushed her sobs and stated that fire was the first light and that she is fire made flesh._

 

“Khaleesi,” Daario stood by the opening of her chambers as she stroked her short hair to smoothness.

The sun was setting, giving rise to a dim glow, bright enough to where the candles needn’t be lit yet, but still dark enough that her body was casting shadows.

Daenerys said nothing as she stared at her reflection.

For years, she wished that what looked back at her was less broken, less shattered, and far less battered. She wished that rage would take the place of her sorrow and that her purple irises glowed a little less wickedly. She wished so hard that the incessant voices in her head would be quiet just as she wished the voices outside of her mind would silence as well.

“Your Grace, there is someone here to see you… they asked for you by your given name,” her commander pressed forward.

Her eyes glanced towards him slowly, warning him not to move closer. 

She preferred distance.

“Nobody should know I am here under any name except what I have specified,” Dany set her brush down.

“I am aware, but there is.”

“Who is it?”

“He refused to give me his name and only asked to have a word with the Queen.”

“I do not go by that anymore,” Dany frowned, shifting her body away from the glass.

Daario, Grey Worm, the red priestesses from Volantis, and what remained of her former armies that moved back across the Narrow Sea _that recognized her_ were the only people that still referred to her as such. 

Most of them were not in Meereen anymore.

“I am aware, which is why I have disturbed you,” Daario clipped.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Does he look dangerous?” Dany stood, straightening out her dress.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Daario scoffed.

Rolling her eyes, “What does he look like?”

As soon as her commander said, “Long dark hair, heavy stare, and white skinned,” Dany’s chest constricted, and her voice became hoarse.

 _It could not be him_ , she told herself, despite feeling the doom in her gut that had been festering for a moon. It had to be someone else from her past or an assassin at the very least.

_He doesn’t know. There would be no way for him to know. And why would he come?..._

“Is he tall?” Her speech was faint as her feet carried her to the door.

“No.”

“Are you certain?” Dany paused.

“Does he sound familiar?”

“Perhaps,” she responded absentmindedly, ignoring the tightness in her throat. “Take me to him.”

“If-”

“Be quiet,” she silenced Daario.

Dany heard nothing but her slippers gliding along the ground of the Pyramid that she had once claimed proudly. Her hands stroked the stone wall hoping that some way they would whisper the secrets of those who had failed before her and still pushed on.

But she never heard anything but the screams of civilians in her mind and the quiet hums of betrayal from those she held dearest.

As Dany raised her palms to her ears to shield herself from the sounds, Daario interrupted,“Are you positive you want to show yourself?”

She froze, swallowing, and then lowering her hands.

Lifting her head to her commander, she nodded once as she stepped out to the peak that held the throne she refused to sit upon ever again. 

_…And there he was._

Dany heard a whimper escape the pit of his throat as he saw her… ghost-like and covered in silk so thin she was certain he could see the dark gash of the stab wound he inflicted to her chest.

She blinked twice and many heartbeats passed.

“I am so sorry,” his voice sounded like metal shattering under an anvil, brittle and sharp as he attempted to intake a breath. 

He failed, so it sounded like a sob. “ _Dany, I am so sorry._ ”

While he took a step forward,  she wondered what expression she had on her face for him to be so bold.

Daario moved in front of her, hand on his sword.

Jon Snow froze.

Leaning to her side, around Daario’s blocking stance, Dany studied him.

He was built... _still_ , but his hair was undeniably longer and falling past his shoulders in soft raven curls. It was no longer pushed into a knot with loose tendrils escaping, making home to the back of his neck. His beard was shaggy, and his eyes looked undoubtedly worn.

Daario threw a look over his shoulder and knitted his brows as he probably saw the despondent curiosity now planted firmly on her face.

“Why are you here?” Her voice carried through the throne room.

She knew Jon Snow had been alive. Grey Worm had informed her of such.

His family would never harm him for they had him to thank for their lives.

“To apologize.” Watching Jon seem to rack his brain for words, Dany felt her lip curl.

“And you have, now return to where you came from,” Daario ordered, knowing there was profound emotion boiling beneath her skin as her body trembled.

Dany felt her chest swell at both the protectiveness of her guard and the frown deepening on Jon Snow’s face at the demand. “What do you want?” 

_“I’m sure nothing I can have-”_

A low growl began to crawl up her throat. “Have you come to finish me off?” she interrupted; her voice shrill as she skirted around her commander.

 _No,_ she knew. He would never be so stupid to come forth in goodwill again.

“How did you know I was here?” she inquired, her tone coming off a lot stronger than she meant.

It was odd for her to process the storm of feelings gathering.

It had been so long since she had seen his face outside of the shadow of him that resided within her nightmares. And in those visions, she saw Jon Snow with shoulder length hair, pulled from his face with tears soaking his eyes. Sometimes she could hear the husk of his voice both brimming with disappointment that she never wished to cause, and promising love she never believed he harbored for her.

“My sister told me,” Jon said carefully and before she could question further, he continued, “Bran tracks Drogon through his…. abilities. I am assuming he saw you.”

He was an idiot, Dany thought when he revealed his family’s actions. _Or was he?_

Was he manipulating her? Or did he no longer care?

Dany cursed herself in her mind and prayed that it was only her affection for her son that the Stark boy had seen.

She knew she should not have gone to him as frequently as she did outside of when he was needed, but as the years passed, guilt ripped into her and she had yearned for the unconditional love; the blood of her blood, her first husband reborn, and her only true family.

Loneliness was less of an issue when they were reunited.

“And will they be sending cutthroats after me now as well?” 

“Not if they are smart,” Jon’s face held no jest.

The thought of taking his life felt more of a duty than a desire, and she wished for no more blood on her hands. She wanted no messages from the West inquiring after the whereabouts of the White Wolf. They knew where she was, and she was unsafe. _Not that she was ever safe._

“Very well. You’ve apologized. _Leave_ ,” Dany waved him off, turning away, hoping that if he’d just return from where he came from that she might be able to flee. 

Paranoia itched up her arms and lodged itself in her throat.

With the room beginning to shake in her mind, she felt suffocated.

Killing him drifted through her brain once again as she inched towards the dimness of the corridor. 

Maybe if she did that, she would feel stable. However, that was just theory, she _knew_ doing such would begin another war and Daario needn’t that. The previous ones hardly mattered and neither would the one that would start if Jon Snow’s head dangled off the pyramid. 

 _But if he stayed alive, there was no justice_ , a nagging voice told her.

Dany began dragging her feet across the floor disregarding it.

Mercy was never a kind concept to her. _What mercy existed in her lifetime?_ But answering injustice with justice was a notion that died on the grounds of her forefather’s castle.

“What was it like?” 

She halted as Daario drew his sword.

Jon must have taken another step. 

“I saw nothing… It was dark and then I woke up. Is there a reason you’ve returned? Was it dark for you as well?” the depth of his voice bounded across the room, sending chills down her spine.

_She hated him._

She _wanted_ to hate him.

Dany gritted her teeth feeling a sting in her eyes as she pointed to the exit, “Daario leave.”

“Your Grace,” he protested, bewildered.

“Search him and then leave us,” she spat, taking a knife from Daario’s weapons belt before he walked down the stairs and patted Jon down again.

They all knew that if Jon wanted to further hurt her, he could. He had to have been almost twice her weight and without doubt stronger than her.

 _And she still fucking loved him._ She knew she did, and she had no reason to, but she still did.

“Did the darkness feel like it was consuming you?” he continued after Daario left, with such northern arrogance it made the anger that she had longed for fester in her stomach.

“ _No_ ,” Dany’s lip curled as she took one step from the top of her throne. 

He told her stories of his traitorous brothers, what they had done to him at the Night's Watch, and how much it hurt, and for years she had agonized over how he, the honorable and good, Jon Snow, could do exactly that to her. She’d saved him and his home and loved him even when he seemed ill at ease with himself.

“You know what I saw? The first thing I saw was Ser Barristan looking at me.” And then shame. “I’m sure you heard the stories of him. He was dismissed from the crown, and then came here to swear fealty to me because it was his sworn duty to protect House Targaryen for he thought I was all that was left. He believed that I was good, like my brother, _your sire_.” 

Dany took another step. 

“Then I saw Ser Jorah smiling at me, and then I felt pain. Then I saw Missandei with my two dragons, but they were babes again,” her voice quivered. “So emerald and golden, the size of kittens. Could you believe that?”

Jon shook his head but not out of skepticism. His eyes were glassy and full of commiseration.

Rage filled her gut. 

“Rhaegal sat in her lap and Viserion crawled up her leg, and she waved at me.” Dany took two more steps. “Behind her I saw all my Unsullied that died in the Great War. And then when I turned to look away, I saw my first husband and my sweet boy with olive skin and the prettiest hair, with Qhono and the rest of my blood riders that died against the dead, standing around me.”

They followed their queen across the Narrow Sea so that she could take back what was hers, not fight and perish in a war lead by the man that she loved.

Water dripped down her rosy cheeks as she lifted her chin in pride. Seven years later… it was all she had, her pride, her one dragon, Kinvara, Daario, and guilt.

“They surrounded me as I reached for my babe and I held him in my arms as my husband whispered to me that he’s still waiting and that I will forever be the moon of his life,” Dany choked out. “And I was happy because I felt like I was home. And that’s when I knew none of it was real. My body would have to burn in a Pyre to see them again… and I could never have something that good; _a home_.” 

Dany wondered what would have happened to her body had Drogon not taken her… would they have strung her up as they did slaves, would they have tried to burn her, would they have built a crypt for her to lie in, or sent her back to the East and cast her aside like the foreign whore they thought her to be?

She gave Westeros everything and ended up with a dagger in her heart.

Through her hazy vision, she could see Jon taking steps forward and she cringed away. In disgust or fear? Dany did not know.

Jon halted.

“And then I heard screaming… it was the souls of the innocents I murdered. My babe was plucked from my arms and one by one, everyone that I love and who loved me started disappearing until it was just me and Missandei. As I peered closer, I noticed a scar on her neck… where Gregor Clegane cut her head clean off... Her eyes were red with tears. She told me to return, and now I’m here,” Dany raised her palms, motioned around the pyramid. “I suppose this is my justice…. being here,” she gave a dry chuckle. “ _I wish I had stayed dead…_ ” The words were poison on her lips as her stomach convulsed. 

She thought she had done something right and that it would have been worth it in the end; a world freed from those who thought only of themselves; a world of honesty, fairness, and equality.

But duality would always exist. 

She was wrong and she killed civilians for it.

“Dany, I am so sorry,” Jon blurted as she got to the bottom of the step, striding forward.

 _“Do not touch me,”_ she shrunk, side stepping him with a firm grip on the knife.

Despite her ire, Jon Snow did as Jon Snow always would… what he, too, felt was right. 

Dany understood.

He wasn’t scared of her or her weapon either. She wondered if he wished he was dead too.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. _Fuck_. I am so fucking sorry.” A true sob finally broke through with water running down his face as he watched her body shake with an appalled stare at the hole in her chest.

_Good._

“Why did you do it?” Dany asked quietly, though she knew the answer.

“Why did you do it?” Jon returned. “The whole fucking city, Dany- My sister was never going to bow to you, and my other sister, _fuck_. You would have killed them! Tell me you wouldn’t have!”

“I could have,” she shrugged, almost smiling at the irony of it all. 

She had spent years speculating which exact point he decided that she should have to be slaughtered… before or after the city burned, his conversation with her Hand, or his discussion with her? 

Targaryen darkness loomed in him as well, she should have known, for the verdict did not come from her actions but the possibility that his family would be murdered.

If Dany thought back to Jon’s siblings, she wouldn’t have blinked if she’d found out that Bran had been smothered in his sleep, or if Sansa and her ginger hair had been hung for treason, or if his youngest and most favored sibling had burned in the flames she let loose on Kings Landing.

She would have been sad, however, that Jon was sad, but that was all.

Caring for those that wouldn’t think twice if something horrible had happened to her was not on her daily duties any longer.

“I know what I did was wrong and unforgivable, but I can’t take it back. So, why are you really here?” Dany questioned with venom in her tone.

Silence followed as Jon’s hands rubbed the sentiments from his face. 

“I sat with what I did for the last seven years and the moment I was told you might be alive… I had to know if it was true,” he looked down. “I was wrong- it felt wrong. And- _it was wrong_.” She watched his fists clench and unclench as the rushed words flew past his lips ineloquently. 

Her heartbeat began to synchronize itself with the tightening of his fingertips.

“I knew what it felt like to be deceived-” His palms looked rough, “…To be stabbed.” -and red from his sharp nails piercing his skin. “…To look at someone you trust and watch them kill you for what they believe to be right… and it’s wrong. _I don’t even deserve to be alive_.”

With every word said, Dany could feel the knife in her hands slowly start slip until it fell to the ground in a loud clatter.

They both jumped.

 _“Why are you here?”_ she repeated, desperate for another answer; an answer that would make her _need_ to harm him, and of course, he couldn’t give her at least that.

_“Because I love you still.”_

He was honest. The first time he said it, it wasn’t honest, but this time, Dany felt the words crash over her like a wave so strong it swept her asunder.

She couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t want to. I want to hate you so bad, but I can’t.”

“ _Why_?” Her gasps for air allowed him to move closer.

“Because you wanted a better world and even if you- I understand what it’s like to feel like nothing matters, _to be nothing_ , to live and care for people that have nothing, and wanting them to have a voice and space,” he was too near. 

 _She_ needed _space_ but her feet wouldn’t move. 

“ _I understand._ And nothing has changed. There is still a wheel. Sam said they laughed at the thought of giving common folk a voice. They could’ve started anew, and they started the same thing over again…” Jon grounded out through his tears, his palms raising to her face.

She wished to move back, to recoil from his touch but his hands were warm, and even in the humidity of Meereen he smelled like fresh snow.

Her inhalations were becoming shallower for she knew that at any moment he could pull a knife to her as he did before, but her _fucking_ feet were rooted to the ground and words completely and utterly failed her.

“And you are the only fucking person that did not lie to me, manipulate me, or use me. I wasn’t pawn in your game. You didn’t care if I was a bastard or your nephew. And that month on that ship was one of the few _good_ times of my life.”

A sob broke from her lips as her face scrunched up at the feeling of her heart shattering.

“The weight of the world didn’t seem heavy when I was with you. You only loved me, _and I used you_ , I betrayed you. We would have all been dead, _Dany_ , and I- _I’m so sorry_.”

Her eyes flickered over his, probing for a lie, needing for there to be lie in the words he was saying, but he only looked pained.

He never said he would take it back. Both her and Jon Snow comprehended that he did what he felt needed to be done, but he was burdened with empathy and suffering.

“You want forgiveness?” she choked out, lifting her hands to his to wrench them apart.

Nervousness traveled her body in a way that she couldn’t name knowing very well that the day that he put a blade through her heart should have been the end of their love.

“I don’t deserve forgiveness.” 

_Neither did she._

*

It had been a fortnight later when her and Daario finally spoke. 

He was pleading for her to eat a large supper.

She declined, worried that Jon Snow inadvertently brought along assassins from Westeros.

“I’ll try it first,” Daario offered.

She denied handmaidens and a cup bearer, refusing to put more at risk for her. Daario just stayed along because he loved her.

Dany could not fathom why. 

She had nothing to offer him; not love, not conversation, not intercourse. And she didn’t wish to be spoken to or caressed.

Perhaps her beauty made him stay, but still, that was tainted by the gash on her chest. 

“He called you Dany,” Daario had finally remarked upon that day.

Disregarding it, _him_ , was proving to be difficult, as there were whispers in town about a comely dark-haired fellow with an odd accent.

“Most men that hurt me do,” Dany stated passively while grooming her hair for the night.

“I can kill him, if you’d like.”

Dany dropped the brush before abruptly turning to him. “You will not,” she spat.

Chuckling, Daario left the tray after making a pointed movement of taking a bite of the grilled meats wrapped in greens and popping a chilled fruit in his mouth.

His face was heated.

“That is the most emotion I have seen you express in over half a decade.” 

He gave one more disbelieving laugh and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. I want to say this chapter was easy but I struggle with Dany's POV so much all the damn time. I also hate confessions and love declarations so this will probably be the only one for a while.
> 
> Uhm, also having some technical difficulties, and by difficulties I mean that my computer fucking died. I am typing from a machine that is playing with my feelings.... The battery is dead so basically, so am I. That is why Howl wont be up this weekend. Jilly finished the next chapter if I read my message preview correctly but I cant open Word on my computer without risking the loss of like 12k words sooooooooo, yikes. New computer said it would be coming in within ten days so I'm praying that its here by next Sunday lmfao
> 
> Loved agreeing with most of the comments. The show was a complete train wreck that I think ruined nearly ever character, but what sucks for us Dany fans is that the writers and even some of the actors defend and excuse it by saying it's been built up. The only thing that's been built is the pile of cash that's been given to this franchise by us for the last decade. 
> 
> Anyways, bitter time almost over... Leave a comment for love <3 
> 
> Let me know what you enjoyed about this chapter, and maybe even, turning to a positive note about the show... Was there anything y'all enjoyed about the season? And I'll bite first... I kinda loved (with show context), Brienne's Knighting scene, Theon and Sansa reunion, Jorah's beautiful death scene, Theon's emotionally devastating death, and the joneyrs post battle make out before Jon pulled away. I also loved the scoring this season. Out of context of the show, I loved that Gendry had claw marks on his vest, Conleth Hill, Sansa's pit braids, Emilia and Maisie's acting, the memes, and Bran's creepy stares in episode one. Oh and the scene where Davos, Jon, and Grey Worm pulled up to King's Landing looking like the most badass daddies and grandfather in the world!
> 
> Also, this fic will be updated every 1-2 weeks (2 weeks max because these are shorter chapters). If I fall off, you can yell at me lmfao Nice yelling though because I'm sensitive af.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Talk to you guys soon xoxoxo


	3. The Hollow's Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had no right to be in Essos.  
> He had no right disrupting what little tranquility she had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by @aliciutza.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**C.3**

_**The Hollow's Calling** _

Dany's POV

 

They had wanted a monster and so she had bared one…  And then she had died giving a faint smile to a world that had been unkind to her.

No one would bow to a queen who wore a crown made of stones created from every life she had taken, Dany realized.

How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?

Her wings had been ripped from her, and though she still had claws, over time they had dulled as she stood in the ruins of who she used to be.

All of her idols, _kind people_ , were dead, and her enemies were still in power. Deep within her she could feel something cruel tug at her resolve for she wished for them to choke on the ashes of her burned dreams. 

She pushed the feeling down further, hoping to bury it.

For years, she had no idea why she was brought back… why this “Lord of Light” willed it.

The path between life and death had been dark and vague, entirely unclear, and Dany could not tell where it began and ended. Only that she suffered. And that, she supposed, was her justice.

_Survival is the punishment._

When Jon Snow returned, so did her nightmares… not that they had truly ceased. However, the vivid visions of blood running through her fingers and the screams of innocents were back. It had Daario once again rushing to her every other night in fear that she was being attacked, and flanking her- suspicious  that she’d throw herself from the pyramid.

He had said nothing after the one time he did. 

Following that, only hushed words and plans for the other city were spoken.

Backing the orders to let the priestesses past the sphinxes and smoking ruins, and on to the newly leveled ground, Dany saw her commander’s longing stares frequent, pleading with her for answers. 

But she had none.

Her wounds were not fresh, but they had been reopened, oozing sentiments she had tucked away.

She yearned for her dragons. She yearned for Ser Jorah. She yearned for Grey Worm to not hold the resentment towards her she just knew he had to have harbored. 

And how she yearned for Missandei…

The slaughter of her closest advisor had been the downfall.

Dany had never just lost her life, loyalty, or the war, she had lost children, love, and friendship.

She had nothing.

 _When Jon Snow returned, so did her nightmares_ … with him came the traumas of both the great and the final war; the reminder of the prejudice of the Westerosi, the hatred of his family, the lives that were taken, the hauntings of empty blue eyed creatures, and the reminder of how close they had been to perfection.

I

He had no right to be in Essos. 

He had no right disrupting what little tranquility she had.

She’d see _him_ in the streets occasionally, looking at foreign armor and cloths. And sometimes he would smile at a little girl he knew to be conning him, and he would let her, over paying for food.

It made her furious. 

But still she could not demand him to leave.

II

She knew Jon would watch her roaming the markets with Daario to her back and a sharp necklace around her throat that if need be, she could use as a weapon.

They did an odd social dance where they would always be in similar places, gauging each other’s motives, and assessing the people they have become.

She would glance at jewelry, buy miscellaneous gowns she’d end up giving to the women at the brothels, and point for Daario to purchase her fresh lemon cakes.

Often times, Daario would gift her a flower that she would tuck behind her ear, and if he’d give her two, she’d offer one up to a merchant girl.

She pretended to ignore Jon Snow, but Jon Snow... though silent, was always loudest with his quietness.

*

“Is it still worth hiding if they know you are alive?” Daario questioned over a supper she refused to consume, but actually joined him for a break from isolation.

Dany supposed that, perhaps, he stayed because he enjoyed these nights, though they were few and very far in-between.

“They do not know what I have been doing for seven years and I would like to keep that as such,” she clipped, putting bread and oil on a dish that she would pick apart with her fingers until it looked like she had eaten it. 

“They have a sellsword in a high seat, and that man and _his_ sister are opportunist at heart-” 

Before Dany could even think about her revulsion for Jon Snow’s sister, Daario raised his hands with a pointed look towards her.

She was describing her commander as well.

Her lips quirked despite her annoyance, so she arched her brow insinuating that he should know, then, just what they are capable of.

“I have no doubt that one would love to see everything I have worked at destroyed as well as me perish again, and the other would do good on getting it done for the right price,” Dany continued, her voice unwavering and tight. She did not even wish to begin thoroughly explaining Samwell Tarly and the man’s knack for bouts of genius again, nor further describing the omniscience of the Stark boy. Wrath would not do her well in the moment.

“I won’t let that happen,” Daario frowned.

“You won’t be able to control it,” she said quietly.

“So, does it matter?” He was angry again.

She flinched at the scornful twinge in his tone.

“They know that I am alive, not what or how I am doing.”

“And how are you doing?” her commander bit.

“Very well, thank you,” Dany grounded her teeth.

“You look lost again…” Daario took a sip of his wine before meeting her eyes. “Like you are unsure if what we have been doing is right.”

Silence followed as she watched him lean back into his seat casually.

Daario had once been a mercenary who could be easily bought and swayed by splendor, and then Dany had given him considerable power. 

She used to worry about his intentions, until she realized that he thought her to be the most beautiful thing in creation. It was never solely based on attraction for him, in comparison to her, that had drawn them together.

_‘There are two sides to everything, Your Grace. Beauty is corrupt. Always. And beauty can be power as well. There is ugliness in power, and nothing was more powerful than you walking out of those flames in Vaes Dothrak. And nothing was equally more beautiful. I have always seen you for what you truly are, and I have not turned away.’_

And he had never left his position. 

Dany assumed that because he still held her in his highest regard, he stopped seeking grandeur and just _lived_. 

That was something he hoped for her, still, after seven years… for her to just live.

But she could not.

“I am unsure because I have lost all qualification to deem what is proper,” she finally stated.

“Dammit, Daenerys! You let him come back and uproot you-”

“You don’t understand-” Dany attempted to interrupt Daario, but he cut her off.

“What I do understand is that I should have never let you go over there alone-”

“I was not alone,” she said heatedly, pushing her plate away.

“No, you were not,” his lips curled. “You had that half man and the baldheaded bastard.”

Daario challenged her with anger in his eyes as he leaned over the table. “One of them conspires against every monarch he is under and the other… you went to war with his family-”

“You needn’t remind me,” Dany glared before wondering why she was even entertaining the conversation.

“Before you stepped foot over there, you saved countless here. You freed men and women, reduced poverty, reestablished an administrative system, and when you crossed the Narrow Sea, _before_ you took a city, you saved the entire fucking continent,” Daario was furious. 

She had never seen him so cross. 

“Nobody is qualified to say anything, because without you they would have said nothing, because they would have been dead.”

There was no argument that she was willing to make as his eyes blazed with a fury she had personally known well long ago. 

Her body was rooted to the seat and she was certain that the first limb she would move, would tremble.

“Age is making you kind… and more blind,” she croaked out.

He still saw her as better, but she was broken and certainly not worthy.

“You know,” Daario started again. “I thought you at your most stubborn was the worst you would get, but this melancholia… the height of it is profound,” he picked up a goblet and took another drink before standing. “It has me rethinking my previous assessment.” 

“When are you leaving and what do you wish for me to do about _him_?” Were Daario’s final questions.

Dany hoped that Jon Snow would realize that there was nothing here and just leave.

“Keep an eye out but let him be, and I will be departing the day after tomorrow to the Dothraki Sea where Drogon will fly me to the Lands of the Long Summer.”

She watched him put his utensils on his plate and round the table to the exit.

Giving her one last look, he said, “I bid you luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is so short, the next update will be on Friday.
> 
> Short chapters fucking suck but there is a POV change. I hope you guys understand and enjoyed Dany's mind a bit there, to see where she's at.
> 
> Leave some encouragement even if it's just a heart or a thumbs up. I have so much anxiety doing both this update and Howl's... which if you didn't notice is definitely up and like 30 pages.
> 
> Thank you for the support! It means EVERYTHING to me.
> 
> BTW, did y'all see the comic con panel? *the actors are still people and are probably being held at gunpoint so i wont hate them* but my poor Gendrya heart. and my poor Dany heart. I will never get over how the franchise is trying to erase Dany's narrative whilst using her for promo and completely gaslighting the fans. I feel like I'm in a relationship with a whole ass fuckboy and the fuckboy is the show. I gave ten years and HBO gave me the finger.


	4. Darkness Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon had not seen her in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza. If there are mistakes it's because I wear glasses that obviously don't work and suck at grammar :)
> 
> We have another time jump towards the end.

**C.4**

_**Darkness Again : Part 1 of 2** _

Jon's POV

 

Jon had not seen her in weeks.

He had gone seven years without her, and that pain could not compare to the agony he felt being near and being unable to see, touch, or hear her.

Such a feral beast loomed underneath her skin, but her eyes seemed empty and cold. _It was the glint_. Her gaze held a glint that kept him up every night. And he wished that it would scare him away, but just like himself, she was no pet. So there was a solace he took in it no matter how wild.

The days continued to pass by and there was no sign of her.

Dragging his feet through the cobblestone walkways and trudging through dirt and sand just to see a glimpse of her made him feel disembodied and embarrassed. Despite his pride, he needed the reminder that she had been real. 

But there was nothing. 

Life resumed and she was nowhere to be found. _Again_.

The sun watched him stagger through the streets, seeming fine, but the moon knew his secret. At some point, he had been able to convince himself that he enjoyed going to the markets but with her entirely absent from his excursions, Jon found himself unable to leave his chambers.

He could feel the void returning, consuming, and driving him absolutely insane.

Jon prayed to his gods to have mercy on him. He was already alone and tainted, burning in the heat of the east and spent from his wasted days. His youth had been stolen by war and hatred, and his bones ached because of the lives he took.

He was too young, and he felt old, rotten, and useless.

She could have been dead in a ditch somewhere, and he would not know.

After their meeting at the pyramid, Jon had avoided the place. Being in that particular area with him seemed to put her in a mental space he knew all too well.

But he _needed_ to know if she had been a figment of his imagination.

However, when he finally swallowed his dignity and worked up the courage to show his face and inquire after her, he’d fallen too ill to leave his dwellings.

 

 

III

The first time Dany visited him in his small room in town, he had dropped a pot of water at their feet. 

Jon had so many questions as to why she disappeared but said nothing because he was just pleased to be in her presence.

He could tell she knew for he was certain his face relaxed in relief.

Being sick and dealing with a fever in the heat proved harder than expected. He was sure he’d hallucinated. There were days he swore he could see Arya with a blade in her hand and a single braid hanging low on her waist in the streets outside his window. Other days, he saw Davos sitting with a sad smile on his face, at the foot of his bed, telling him to try to eat again. 

His night terrors awoke his neighbors, and it wasn’t until some maid took pity on him and brought chilled water with green leaves, and fruit, _he supposed,_  floating in it. Jon was not clear on whether he was supposed to drink it or put it on his skin, so he did both. He was positive they just wished for him to stop screaming at night, and he concurred.

 _So_ , him and Dany had not seen each other for nearly two moons when she showed up outside his hovel looking unamused, mildly concerned, and infinitely irritated.

She wore a dusty maroon dress that hung off her shoulders. The only thing that connected the top to the bottom were golden links that exposed her lower belly. 

Her cut hair had been a faded blue with a pretty beaded net clipped to the crown that matched the details of her gown.

They had watched the water soak her slippers, rushing past their feet before they both looked toward each other.

Jon saw her lips quirk quickly, mirth dancing in her eyes at his embarrassment before she caught herself and eventually resigned, bending over to take her drenched shoes off. 

When she stood straight, he noticed her irises held the glint again.

“Do you enjoy living near a brothel?” she inquired stepping over the puddle of water, waving a guard, that was not her commander, to stay at the entrance.

With his head lowered, Jon shook his head, “Not particularly.”

 _Not at all_ , he wished to say but a wet cough came from him instead.

Jon blushed.

He could hear the women groaning so loud, he wanted to bang his head in most nights. He never understood how men could return knowing that the pleasures they vocalized were not real.

“Not adjusting well?” Dany floated past him in his room, eyeing his weapons belt and the knife sticking out from under his pillow to avoid.

Jon’s mouth went dry with nervousness.

He shrugged, careful not to move and startle her.

She sat down on the very edge of his cot, delicately stirring, he assumed, to hear the creak of the base before gazing at him.

Her eyes were bored and unforgiving, calculating him as he shifted.

“I am not too good with languages,” he offered, finally.

Her chin raised in pride.

“I would presume that to be an issue,” her lips pursed.

IV

“What did you want before all of this?” Jon asked from his position across the floor of the pyramid.

How they had gotten to this point had been a culmination of events that started four moons prior with an odd ginger drink delivered, after Dany’s visit, by a girl no older than ten and two wearing a familiar beaded net with golden links. “ _For your ailments_ ,” said the child in common tongue but with an accent thicker than his.

Following that event, Jon had gone to the pyramid to question if Dany sent the girl with medicine but hesitated once he entered the throne room. It was just another excuse to see her.

However, noticing that Daario was absent piqued Jon’s curiosity.

_“What is it you want, Jon Snow? Why are you here?” The loaded question, Jon thought. He had so many answers, and they all sifted through his mind at once causing him to pause, overwhelmed. “Right now, in my pyramid… why is that you are here?”_

_He honestly forgot with her display of open hostility that warned him to stay put._

_The room was full of guards, and he was confused._

_Him and her were not alone so he refrained from stating anything personal again._

_“I noticed your commander is away… Is he ill?” Jon asked._

_Dany’s stare darkened._

_“Only in the head… Are you asking after my safety or-”_

He had laid Longclaw down and swore to protect her for the rest of his life, and she just stared emptily.

They sat in silence most days, him unsure of his place but not wishing to leave her. 

He wondered if she still _despised_ him.

He wondered if she would ever stop flinching away from him.

Knowing it was warranted, Jon kept his back against the wall as she held her knees to her chest.

A few hours ago, he had stepped too close to her without her knowledge. It had been a stupid accident coupled with a stupid desire to give her a lemon cake from the baker. 

She had recoiled backward so violently they both cringed. 

Now the treat sat smashed on the ground with sweet melted sugar oozing from the center, warm from the heat, and sticking to the floor.

Jon contemplated whether she had been a recluse of herself the entire time she was in Meereen, or because he was there. Another query he always wished to ask her was which of anger, fear, or disgust she felt strongest now.

They were so much older, but age had been kind to her. She looked young, so much younger than he, with her face always flush and tan from the dry heat and her silky white hair bluntly trimmed to her shoulders. 

She no longer adorned braids. 

When she sought him outside the pyramid, why her hair had been gone and blue was a question, pondering if the red witches had, too, cut her locks. 

Dany told him that when Dothraki lose their battles they cut their braids and that even if she had been victorious, her last breath as Queen Daenerys Targaryen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, had been taken on the floors of the Red Keep.

She also informed him that colored hair was a common Tyroshi practice. When he asked why that distinct color, she said red reminded her of his sister, and browns and black would not fade as well. So, she chose blue for the color of her first husbands khalasar. She also stated she was too proud of her Targaryen features to sully them completely and that she needed a disguise for silver hair and purple eyes were not common enough.

Jon snapped out of his reverie when she tilted her head. 

He scanned her face once more and her eyes told him not to go anywhere near her. 

Keeping his legs crossed in front of him, he played with the hem of his light tunic as he continued to watch the cake dissolve.

“A home,” she whispered, toying with the frays of her gauzy frock.

“You mentioned that…” Jon frowned, recalling their first meeting in the pyramid. “What kind of home?”

“One with a red door and lemon trees.”

Looking up to see if she was joking, Jon found nothing but a somber look on her features.

“Why so specific?” he asked softly, now contemplating if he had known her at all.

“It’s one of the only good things I remember from when I was little…”

“I can help you get that,” Jon said, glancing at his hands.

 _He could._ That was not a lie, but it was not his place either. They could hardly stare each other in the eyes for more than a few moments. 

In truth, there was nothing they should like about one another any longer. They were not “just” people. He was an oath breaker, murderer, and a kinslayer while she was a war criminal.

“I do not need your help. I am capable of doing it by myself.” 

“So, why don’t you?” Jon swallowed back the irritation in her voice and clenched his jaw.

“Because is a home really a home if you are alone?”

A burn traveled to his nose as he searched for her eyes. She refused to look at him.

“I can promise you that you won’t ever have to be alone again.”

“I don’t trust you,” she spat, her head snapping up to his. “ _You shouldn’t trust me,_  and I don’t want to depend on anybody. I can’t trust _anybody_.” 

Her voice held a distraught edge that made him feel ill. 

He averted his gaze.

She did not need him. She would always be fine. Alone, by herself... _without him and her former council_ , she had built so much.

Meereen was flourishing under her shadowy support. She was not the queen. In fact, there was no official ruler, but a set of laws made by a council chosen by the common folk, that both Dany and Daario Naharis had been on, kept in place by the Second Sons.

The Bay of Dragons was prosperous becoming a crucial trading ground with no slavery, no monarch, only the voice of the people that had been emphasized by an obscure figure; _her_.

Dany being truly alive and not some phantom was known by little; the council in Westeros, her dragon, Jon, her guards, and red priestesses around Essos. 

The witches told tales of how Daenerys Targaryen, _the last dragon,_ would come again. 

They spoke stories of how her reign was not yet over, and how her saga had just begun. They said how the world that once was, would be no longer, that she would bring forth a restored realm; a free society; free of oppression, free of injustice, free of hate, where people could make decisions of their own volition.

Jon thought that anarchy would follow such a speech, but Qarth had been a city that Daenerys had once escaped with great wealth and left for anyone to claim. Over the years, it had gotten taken by men and women, and from them bore a new town of free will and pleasant merchanting. 

In seven years, Daenerys had stressed the importance of education to Daario Naharis and emphasized that in order for people to do better, they had to know better; they had to understand the mistakes of the past and present.

“I will spend whatever remains of my life making it up to you,” Jon’s eyes bore into hers with earnestness.

“You should leave, you know?” she searched his face. “Find happiness because you won’t find it with me,” she stood to leave.

“You’re wrong,” Jon called out in a much sturdier voice than he thought he was capable of.

“Pardon,” she tossed a look over her shoulder before turning to face him again.

“You’re wrong,” he stated. “I smile on even the worst days with you, at least once a day. I smiled more in the last few moons here than I did seven years at the wall.”

It was true, their days were not always good, but he didn’t feel as lonely. He’d often see her in town teaching people how to read or glaring at her commander in annoyance when the other man had been around. Sometimes she’d smile as she pet a street cat, feeling it purr into her fingertips, and laugh as she overheard women gossip about frivolities.

She was there. _Alive_. He wasn’t alone in surviving. She gave him hope.

“I am not telling you that you must go back to the wall,” she snapped at him. “Go to the north and start a family, spend time with your friends-”

“Well, that is where I would go,” Jon bit, interrupting her with hard eyes. “It is either here or there and I would like to be here. _Please_. I’d like to stay here…” _with you_ … he thought but never said.

He had no intention of going back to Westeros unless she ordered it. The only thing there for him was Ghost and the beast hardly needed him in comparison to how Jon longed for him.

With her eyes traveling the expanse of his seated figure, shivers were sent down his spine and an ache formed in his heart when repugnance was prevalent.

The only glimmer of optimism he was left with was the uncertainty that flashed after a moment- right before she retreated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Leave me comments even if its just a heart to let me know you're reading! 
> 
> Next chapter we will be visiting Dany's POV during the first half of this chapter. It was definitely funny to write and visually appealing for me... a bit of adventure in the midst of angst and I'm excited to share it with y'all. Until next time <3


	5. Crawling Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza.
> 
> We will be visiting Dany's brain for a quick moment. It is Dany’s POV from halfway through the last chapter- when Jon notices she’s gone. Hope you enjoy a little bit of adventure and passive-aggressiveness.

**C.5**

_**Crawling Home : Part 2 of 2** _

Dany's POV 

 

"The sun is going to set soon," Dany remarked, looking at the holes in the stone ceiling.

The light was dimming, the ashen clouds were disappearing, and traces of dense fog were settling.

The ground that they walked on was dry while the air was thick, smelling of antiquity and decay. The sanctuary was obviously abandoned for it held not one thing except the pillars keeping the roof from falling upon them.

Kinvara swore that it was not empty while she sauntered along the edge of the space, keeping her ears to the walls, stroking the stone.

When Dany opened her mouth to say that if she kept knocking something ought to knock back and argue that she would catch a disease if she were not careful, the woman shushed her and told her to listen.

The room was humming.

Dany forced herself not to roll her eyes as she sloshed her feet around in her boots.

Every time they stepped into a temple, it was muddy and marked with curses and incantations. They were warned that the wreckages held spirits.

It could be true.

Dany no longer argued the unlikely as she had a dragon and seen walking dead men.

Moments ago, Kinvara had her whisper in High Valyrian– words that were carved onto a door that should have been rotted for it was a barrier between the dry hall and the swamped corridors that reeked of mold. So, the possibility that the magic the room contained could be backfiring on them as the low hums turned into pulsations was very likely.

Just as Dany was to ask for them to leave, a different passageway shifted open as Kinvara tapped a stone.

The priestess turned her head back with a look of triumph and a gleam in her eye.

Dany sighed as they entered another room that happened to light itself.

"You are not scared," Kinvara stated, marveling at what Dany believed to be a shrine.

There had been openings on the top of the outer sanctuary, but it was not flooded, however, the _enclosed_ passageways were filled with black water to their thighs. The only thing Dany feared was the infection they might receive, and unfortunately not die from, if they did not soon change from their clothes.

"What do I have to be scared of? Death? Pain? Torture?" She had licked fire before, lived through storms, sang with her dragons, parlayed with snakes, battled lions, and would probably dance in the ashes of the final bridges she would soon burn. Dany no longer feared damnation… she was already damned.

"You are lovely company," said the other woman wistfully as she knelt, finding a peculiar chest, after delightfully scouring the room.

"And you are too excited."

"I am finding much beauty," the priestess opened the box with a wave of her hand.

It held a ruby-encrusted book.

"That could quite possibly kill you just from your touch," Dany informed with distaste, squinting her eyes to see if there were words inscribed on the case.

" _What do I have to be scared of? Death_?" Kinvara mocked before looking back, observing her.

The woman had been glancing at her all day and as much as Dany wanted to deny that it had not made her mood worse, _it had_.

She did not appreciate being scrutinized.

"You are sharper than usual… like broken glass," the priestess remarked. "Do you still wish more people were fluent in silence?"

"Yes," Dany bit.

"Then you should no longer find yourself having that problem now that your lover has returned."

She had been waiting for days for the woman to bring him up. Dany understood the witch knew for the longer Dany spent missing from Meereen, the more anxious she grew.

"He is a quiet beast," the other woman stated astutely.

Dany offered an unreadable expression as the witch gave a cryptic chuckle, "You are more haunted than these ruins."

" _And just as destroyed."_

A tense silence followed her bitter admittance– for her and the woman had an odd relationship.

The priestess and Daario were the closest Dany had ever gotten to a friend since Missandei. When Dany would begin to fall into despair, Kinvara would slither past her defenses and pull her from the pit. But it was not pure, she thought. Red priestesses usually held a concealed purpose.

" _No_. What tried to destroy you did not have the strength," the other woman's face fell into a startling expression. "You are standing, _still_. Sturdy, powerful, and smelling of smoke."

Kinvara straightened, her eyes dark, holding the book to her chest after clicking the box it came from shut.

Dany could feel her eyes gloss before looking down, wiring her hands harshly, over, and over, and over again, until her disquiet was replaced with her means of coping.

She did not feel sturdy.

"Watch out, Daenerys!" Was all Dany heard before her body was flung to the opposite side of the wall as rocks began falling.

Kinvara rushed to her and pulled her to her feet.

Dany surveyed the area, wide-eyed before quickly glancing at the witch who once again used her magic to spare her life. Dust was swirling around them and before she knew it, the particles had started to infiltrate her nose causing her to sneeze and cough.

The room was crumbling.

As the floor began to shake, Dany flew into a mode within her that she thought no longer existed. Tugging Kinvara, she dodged boulders and passed cracking pillars until they entered the vacant hall again.

Suddenly, the walls groaned.

The other woman gripped Daenerys' shoulder in protection as the smell of saltwater assaulted them.

Glancing down, the once empty room started sinking, becoming submerged with liquid as this ceiling, as well, began to quake.

She knew the priestess would not remember the way they had entered for she had been too infatuated with reading the text on the walls, so Dany guided as the woman shielded them from the, now falling, debris.

When the ground gave a violent quiver, she heard Kinvara take in a sharp breath as the water that had been in the passageways started _roaring_ in.

Dany took a sharp turn to the right where she saw an opening. It was not the way they entered, but they could not fight a current.

Panic did not even cross her mind. Her body was relaxed, and she could not tell if it was because her life held little value to her… or it is was because she could not help the witch if she was frozen with fear.

Bolting down a hallway, Kinvara's hands had clasped into hers and it took all her might not snatch her palms away. Instead, Dany focused on climbing the steps they'd reached until they arrived at a gate.

She cursed and turned to Kinvara whose life she began to, indeed, worry for.

The woman was shoving the book into a full sack that she secured higher upon her torso.

Dany did not even notice as to when the satchel grew heavier.

The priestess looked up.

Tilting her head quickly, the witch motioned for Dany to step aside.

She obliged.

As Kinvara lowered to the lock on the gate, Dany could hear low rumblings.

It was the water.

Bracing herself, Dany stood in front of the woman's back. She shielded her from the wave that was forming down the hallway– looking like a dark monster, wishing to swallow them alive and hear their screams.

Standing her ground, Dany would not give in.

She got heaved back and the gate slammed.

Turning around, Kinvara gripped Dany's fingers again and hauled her up rocky steps.

They were at a tower.

Vines traveled up the stone, creeping through the small cutouts in the structure. She leaned over and realized they were ascending a spiral staircase.

The higher they got, the slower they walked, calming, knowing that the water pouring out of the holes in the wall would take a while to spread before it reached them again.

This particular construction had been like a maze of tunnels and undercrofts. They should not have gone as deep as they did but even Dany could not dispute the witch when she said that the building was calling to them.

There was no roof to the structure, they realized when they finally reached the top of it.

Dany's feet had not been burning before, but pain became prevalent as they peered through an enlarging device, watching the calm sea surrounding them gently wave while the liquid in the center of the building they stood at, rose harshly.

 _A watchtower._ The largest one yet… and they hadn’t seen it until now.

_There should be a guard patrolling the area so if Kinvara started a fire, someone would be able to find them._

"Why?" Dany turned around, shifting on her aching legs.

The priestess paused and peeked back at her.

"You could have all of this if I were dead," Dany motioned toward the outer rings in frustration. Construction had started some time ago them and the palace that had been started years to this date was a little more than halfway done.

"Then you would be dead," Kinvara's brows knitted together

She wanted off the tower immediately, so she searched within for her tether to her son and tugged on it.

"That is not what I wish for. I cannot do this without you, I haven't the vision nor the ambition," the woman's head tilted.

"Vision?" Dany questioned incredulously. "You can see into flames-"

"And all I see is you staring back at me," the priestess stated softly, inching her way over.

Dany's eyes were drawn to the woman's fingers, lazily caressing the rocks ensnared with creepers.

"This is not your destruction, _my love_. This is your birth."

*

"How is he?" Dany finally inquired over the first supper they took together since she returned.

"How was it?" Daario's eyes narrowed.

Usually, she told him everything straight away, but something stopped her.

It was not him who she wished to explain everything to, if she must be truthful with herself, and she also did not fancy enlightening him of her multiple near-death experiences with the red witch.

_"Three out of fourteen is not so bad, Your Grace," Kinvara praised while they were being lifted onto a Greyjoy ship a different day._

_"Yes, yes, it is. Especially when the eleven of them all led to disaster."_

_They had almost drowned one morning, On another evening Kinvara had almost been set aflame… much to her pleasure, and then they had become entrapped in a cell until they realized that the key was within one of the pearlized chests they gained… and that they fit through the wooden bars if she had removed their heavier cloaks._

It had been a nice distraction, Dany concluded whilst thinking back. The woman was cheeky and only brought up Jon Snow twice in almost three weeks.

"Fine," Dany bit.

"Do you need me to send for an appraiser?"

She denied, staring at her plate of flatbread and spiced goat. "I want everything quiet until I am certain that I am not being effectively tracked."

"How many more artifacts did you find?"

"Kinvara was with me."

Daario made a face of both understanding and appreciation.

"That was why my time away was lengthened."

His lips quirked.

Dany rolled her eyes, dropping her fork.

"We searched temples and finally stopped sifting through where we suppose the common folk lived…" she paused and then finished, answering his question, "A lot."

"She was delighted, I wager."

He had no idea. It was the happiest Dany had seen the woman since she had first arisen.

For a fortnight, they both crafted maps of the sanctuaries and shrines they unearthed, combining the information they received from her preliminary examinations. Together, they realized that the temples furthest away from the center were the utmost demented and the ones closest were the most decrepit.

By the time Dany left, Kinvara had been deliberating on the best ways to handle the remaining ruins whilst planning a sermon to be preached by her priests.

"Very. Spells were keeping many of the temples intact. Only magic would allow one in…" Dany reached for her goblet and sniffed the contents. "They will be very wealthy with both old knowledge and relics."

"Do you trust her?"

"I do not trust anybody," she responded hotly.

"What will you do if she tries-"

"I am hoping that she values her life more than power…"

Dany could not comprehend what the woman's true plans were. She was too kind, and Dany did not trust benevolence.

"The architects have finally settled on the outer ring so construction should move quicker. The main watchtower is ready for you, and Kinvara will move into one of the temples with six of her girls and three witches from Asshai until we are satisfied with the designs."

"They will take much pleasure frightening the pirates," Daario chuckled, leaning back into his seat after throwing a dinner cloth at his plate. "Tell me when to leave, _Your Grace_ ," he teased.

She did not mean for her voice to hold the authority it did when she shared knowledge, it was instinct for it to steady and strong.

"Don't," she glared. "Answer my question now… I have been here for a fortnight and visited the markets thrice and have not seen _him_. Has he finally left?"

They stared at each other until her eyes eventually lowered.

Her skin lost color with every heartbeat that passed until Daario replied.

"He is very ill." And something cracked within her.

"Excuse me," Dany's head snapped up.

"Well, he _was_ anyway," her commander informed.

"And why are you sharing this now?" she pushed her chair back and stood.

"You did not bring it up," Daario explained, shrugging. "You did not wish to speak before."

"I was tired," Dany excused, though it was not the whole truth. "The residual magic leaves an effect…" That was what Kinvara told her at least; to be careful and get rest as the power bleeds from her skin.

"What did you do about it?"

"Nothing," her commander responded. "You said to keep an eye out and I did as you instructed... _kept an eye out_. He's not dead."

"His body is not accustomed to this part of the world. All he has ever known was ice and snow. He could have died, Daario!" Her face reddened as her fists clenched.

"And?" her commander's jaw tightened, his eyes dimming in irritation.

" _And_?" Dany repeated, blinking, believing the man had grown senseless in a moon. "Have you forgotten his family reigns in the west. What if they came here? What if they come here now"

"They cannot do anything to you, and you know that," chuckled Daario darkly. "He is the only person that can harm you. And I am not stupid. You aren't upset because of a small possibility of war."

He was not wrong, but it did not make her any less troubled.

"You are upset because you love him."

Dany gritted her teeth and allowed her eyes to burn with resentment.

"Did you forget?" her commander probed though to her it sounded of a taunt. "How do you just forgive him?" He spat the question as if it was poison on his tongue.

She wished she could forget.

Dany averted her gaze, "He is not forgiven."

_How does one forgive the man they love for murdering them?_

"You act as if he is."

"I see his face and sometimes I see myself setting him afire... is that what you want to hear?" Her voice was low and grave, dripping with antagonism.

"How do you let him roam free? He broke faith, oath…" Daario stared disbelievingly. "He killed you."

She broke promises too. She vowed that she would not become the queen of the ashes and yet she stood powerfully as they fell. It was the only thing she felt she was truly the queen of any longer.

"I laid waste to a city that held a million," Dany stated plainly, allowing apathy to swallow her before despair did. "Can you even count to a million?"

Daario just watched her.

Turning her back to him, "If the positions were reversed-"

"You could not have done it."

_No, probably not._

"I have executed people for less," Dany glanced over her shoulder once to see her commander studying her.

She sighed, avoiding his eyes. "Only in _this situation,_  it hurts being the person that loved more."

Dany could swear she heard Daario grit his teeth.

" _Leave._  Kinvara is awaiting. And not at the coast… Go to Valyria."

"Is that a command? Are you my queen or not?" His chair screeched under the force of his weight pushing it back. "Figure out what it is that you want, Daenerys."

She heard his hard steps thumping across the stone ground as he vacated the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this. As you know, I struggle with Dany, so I hoped this sufficed. 
> 
> Please for the love of God, be kind here. If you find yourself itching to leave a mean comment, a backhanded compliment, or feel like trolling, just leave. If you find yourself having criticism that isn't even remotely constructive, and by constructive, I mean– if you have no way of fixing a problem you may come across, I will not fault you for your lack of feedback. 
> 
> Please be mindful, helpful, nice, or respectful. I do try to cover it up but I take things to heart sometimes... So, I would also like to take this moment to thank many of the people who left me kind and encouraging messages on tumblr– helping me through my writer's block and insecurities, and defended and supported me two weeks ago. It is very hard to put out content sometimes, but it means the world when you know that you have people looking forward to it and loving you. I thank you all so much. It means more to me than you probably know and I wish to admit (lmfao). 
> 
> Love you guys very much, Angel.
> 
> PS: The Valyria storyline will continue to be illuminated in further chapters. I am trying to save y'all from a massive description dump that really has no relevance yet.


	6. No Snow in the East

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza.
> 
> This chapter takes place a little bit after the fourth chapter TECHNICALLY since the last chapter was just Dany's POV of the beginning of the fourth chapter. Hope that and this makes sense and clears up some things :) Enjoy bbys <3

**C.6**

_**No SNOW In The East** _

Jon's POV

V

Meereen was stable even though Daario came and went often. Jon did not know where the other man had gone off to and he supposed it was none of his business. 

 _But_ he was gone for weeks.

“Should you be alone for this long?” Jon asked as he stood next to her, her blue hair tucked behind her ears, in front of a merchant that sold jewelry.

He only glanced at her once and noticed she was staring at pearls with a stiffening posture. He did not mean to sound condescending or as if he thought her incapable of taking care of her own, but he knew she did not think she was safe, and if he was honest with himself, he could not tell if she was.

He really wanted to ask why the commander was gone.

She waved her hand politely at the seller and forced a smile before walking away with no word to him.

He subtlety looked over his shoulder to watch her leave.

VI

_I think I am fine– but I cannot be certain… I’m still alive._

_You’d hate it here. It’s hot and none of the women are big or mean enough for you._

_I don’t know when I will be back… if I'll even be back– and not to sound a fool, but I miss you and Ghost. It’s odd not having you breathe down my neck… and sometimes I hear him howling in my dreams._

_Have you been out to see Aslina? I hope her and the Orald boys are well… they wanted to learn how to sword fight. If you aren’t getting too old, you should go to them. I know you forget you have people that look up to you too._

_Some days I feel like I should just go back, but you should see her. She’s stunning. She hates me but she’s beautiful… and kind. Would you believe that? After everything. She still manages to keep going. I don’t know what happened all those years ago– but she’s better than me. I know it. I can feel it. Even after everything, she just keeps fucking going. She doesn’t need me ruining everything and I don’t even think she needs anybody anymore…_

_I hope you get this and can read all these words... and I hope you aren't feeding Ghost goat milk. He’s not supposed to have it because it makes his shit thin._

_~JS_

Jon was on his way to send the message to the Wall, hoping Tormund would actually get it when he was stopped by Daenerys.

“Where are you sending that?” she asked, her voice clear and as cold as her eyes.

The piece of parchment that was in his hand suddenly felt heavy. Her tone made him feel like he’d just gotten caught doing something naughty, and her face betrayed the rage her rigid demeanor was trying to hide.

Hesitating, “ _Ah–_ the Wall,” he supplied.

She was usually passive with him, but irritation seeped from her skin. “Why?” she snapped.

“To tell Tormund that I am well… he used to take care of me,” Jon muttered, his cheeks turning pink. He was a man grown, and yet another man had been sleeping across the hall to watch over him.

“I don’t believe you.”

“That I am well or that he used to take care of me?”

Dany narrowed her eyes, “That you are sending a message to Tormund Giantsbane.”

_Oh._

Jon stuck out his hand, ignoring that she flinched, and offered her the missive. When their eyes connected, he could see a storm coming in them, a battle– a clash of waves. She did not want to read it, but she did not trust him in the least.

Snatching the parchment from his hand, Dany unraveled the message and took a moment to skim the contents. Jon assumed that the reason why she had immediately glanced at him with gloomy eyes was because she read the first line.

Steeling herself, she returned to the letter with an indignant frown.

It must have taken her longer to accept the words for she should have finished reading it and her head was still down.

Jon could feel himself growing nervous.

“Is that fine? I can just not send it– or you can tell me what I can send,” Jon stumbled through his words.

She said nothing and for a moment he thought she would just walk away from him again… and then she swallowed and looked back up, slowly reaching out for him to take the parchment. 

Jon felt himself sag with relief.

*

Meereen was a city where people often came and went. However, for moons, Jon had seen the same people coming and going. So, when men started appearing– speaking better common tongue than Meereenese Valyrian, it worried him. 

They wore rich brown leather _in the heat_ , and the material looked to be of the highest quality– far more expensive than common folk could afford and very impractical. They watched, not bought, only ate, instead of talked. They did not sell either, so they weren’t merchants. 

And the black laces down the front of the jerkins were far too familiar…

Shaking his head, Jon wished to bury his thoughts but deep down he felt as if he knew what was to happen.

Going to Daario’s guards, he asked for Daenerys, but they did not comply with his request to see her. _Of course they wouldn’t_. And he didn’t notice her in the markets for the week.

 _She had to have disappeared again. Perhaps she was with Daario._ Or was avoiding him… 

Both thoughts made him sick, but Jon knew Dany had just as much pride as him. She left.

He did not let the void consume him, telling himself that she returned last time… and sent a messenger, when he was ill, with treatment. She would not leave without telling him. He hoped. _Unless she knew there were those men in her city already…_

A small boy nudged Jon out of the way and out of his thoughts as he sifted through vegetables. The child must have muttered apologies in Valyrian, and Jon could have banged his head for replying in common tongue instinctually.

The boy slowly turned around, looking excited. “Sir, you are not from here.”

Jon was not sure if that was a statement or a question.

He had seen the child running through the streets on numerous occasions and bought from this same merchant woman but never spoke. He rarely spoke for the language and culture barrier filled him to the brim with nervousness.

“Leave him alone,” the woman glared at who Jon supposed might either be her younger brother or son.

Pausing, almost dropping an onion, “You speak common tongue…”

The woman nodded slowly as if he was an idiot.

“You’ve been talking to me in Valyrian this whole time,” Jon frowned.

“And you’ve been pretending to understand me the whole time,” retorted the woman with ease.

“It’s polite,” he mumbled.

“And I’m not,” she pointed to the leafy greens that Jon put aside, silently confirming that he was taking them. “I like seeing foreigners struggle.”

“You should learn, sir,” the boy reminded Jon that he was still there, inching closer with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “It is simple.” 

The child did not look to be malicious… he looked curious and playful. No matter the soil, children everywhere seemed to be curious. Well, except the North. They despised everyone who was not northern. But free folk children were meddling, and the eastern ones were apparently prying and nosy.

It was charming, Jon decided.

“I am sure it is for you. You grew up here,” he smiled as the boy’s brows furrowed.

“Well, I speak common tongue!”

“ _Well_ , I am bad at languages…” 

Leaning against the stand, he stared at the child who was giving him a face of exasperation. He was really best at fighting and killing… and before Jon’s expression could darken, the woman interrupted, “And sums?” 

“Did I give you too little?” He stood straight, reaching into his pouch of coins.

“Too much.”

“Boy, shush!”

“And you weren’t even goin’ to tell me?” Jon shook his head to himself. He’d been having trouble adjusting to their coin.

“I said I like seeing foreigners struggle.”

"And you say two when you wanted three things," the child pointed out.

Jon wished he knew their names, but as he was going to ask, the boy lifted his hands and started to count his fingers starting with his thumb instead of index. “Three is _hāre_.” 

The child might’ve been eight years young.

“I can only say one, two, yes, and please.” _And not three, apparently._

“You should learn how to say no as well,” pointed out the woman.

“Why? I barely use it,” Jon scoffed. He hardly knew that word in common tongue.

“Your wife must be happy,” the woman said appreciatively.

“I don’t have a wife.”

Her eyes widened before she nodded, “That explains why you're always buying food. Men usually don't.” 

She pretended to dust off the sheer sleeves of her orange frock, “Are you looking for one?”

Jon halted.

The woman raised her eyebrows before her lips slowly tugged into a grin. She winked.

"Funny," Jon blushed despite himself. She was noticeably older than him– still pretty with wild chocolate curls, amber eyes, and tan skin.

The awkward smile that formed on his lips from her attention fell when he noticed another man in leather appear from an alley to the woman's right.

“Mother!”

The child broke his concentration, horrified at his mother’s shamelessness.

She slid Jon back his coin. 

 _Kindness_ … She was kind.

The woman busied herself, wrapping his items feigning indifference but she seemed to like him well enough not to continue with her con, allowing him to keep his coin even though he shrugged it off. 

He was usually good at spotting when someone was trying to take his money as they were usually ostentatious.

Jon bent down and handed the coffer to the boy. “Promise me that you’ll teach me at least one other word in Valyrian if I see you again.”

“I can teach one right now,” the child said, eagerly taking the copper. “ _Kirimvose_ is thank you, oh and you should know _skore ñuhoso_ means which way, _obūljagon ilagon_ is bend down, and _avy jorrāelan_ means I love you. That’s always important to know!”

The boy looked like he had won thousands of gold pieces the way he cradled the single coin in his hands.

“And _no_ ,” said his mother, amused. “He should learn how to say that too.”

“ _Daor,_ ” the boy supplied. 

“ _Olvie sȳz,_ ” was the last thing the merchant woman said before the boy ran off  

“Kirimvose,” Jon tried and winced. His northern grit did not sound good with the melodic feel of the other language.

“Needs work,” she made a face before placing the vegetables into his basket.

Out of the corner of Jon’s eyes, he saw the same man he noticed earlier fade into a side street.

VII

The child’s name was Mikloz. He was nine years, had sticky fingers, and never sat still. Studying sums was his favorite part of the day and loved languages because “they’re easy.” 

For over a fortnight, the boy proved to be a colorful distraction that pulled him from his bedchamber. When Jon went to the markets, the boy showed him the places he should not buy from because the foods were quick to spoil, and the craftsmanship was cheap.

The child had been prattling about when Jon caught a wisp of blue hair out of the corner of his eye, and like a siren song, Jon was lured to the western end of the marketplace. He didn't go there often as it seemed like it was full of people who practiced magic, and since the little Jon knew about it turned out to be bad, he chose not to look. His curiosity had not been strong enough until now.

Slowly following him, the boy confirmed his prior assessment when he stated that his mother did not allow him to go past the red cart. He glanced to his right side– the red cart sold herbs and elixirs by a man with purple lips and three identical scars on his forehead. The more Jon eyed them, the more he wondered if they were markings instead of healed wounds.

With one last look, Jon crossed the invisible threshold, leaving the boy near a sweets stand, telling him that he’d see him again soon and to run along home.

Pushing past people on this side of the city was far harder than the light flow of food stands. Men were shouting, a few fighting, and there were foreign accents that were in no way shape or form local. Everyone looked different as well. Gone were the tan skin and brown wavy hair. Now stood some people with sallow white skin, lips that looked stained with blood, eyes so blue it seemed _wrong_ , a woman with purple eyes– but her skin was tan and her teeth were black, and cloaked figures with faces that were covered with masks.

He swore it was colder on this side as well, but he could not be certain if it was just the chills he got from the chanting in the tent to his left, or if it was indeed chillier.

Jon did not wish to stay, let alone stop at a stand, but Dany turned back and reflexively, he tried to look busy and like he was not following her. Taking a glimpse up, he could not tell if the person behind the table of aphrodisiacs was a man or a woman. Either way, he or she was very handsome, just not who Jon wished to speak to at the moment.

Smiling, albeit uneasily, Jon nodded and pushed away. And then, of course, he lost her in the sea of the unfamiliar.

 

When Jon finally found her, she looked properly angry… and her skin looked clammy.

She must have noticed him out of the corner of her eyes because she immediately snatched a worn book away from an older woman with long greying hair and yellow-green eyes and shoved it into a sack.

Collecting herself, pushing a blue wisp behind her ears and re-knotting the bun that sat low at her neck, Dany tried to walk past him, but he stepped in front of her stride. 

“I have to speak to you.”

“Aren’t you already?” Her voice sounded different– like the words were clawing its way out of her throat as her eyes quickly scanned him for all his weapons. He had only a shortsword he bought at the market that he practiced with on the days he did not see her. He preferred to keep Longclaw locked away, especially after seeing those men.

Jon paused, “I–”

“Please do take your time,” she puffed as their eyes connected, and they were hard and so very violet.

“Are you well?” Jon’s voice was soft and that was a mistake, he immediately learned.

Dany rolled her eyes and attempted to move past him, but he stepped in her way again.

“Very–” she attempted to grit out, but a cough stopped her words. Her hand flew to her mouth, the jewels on her open back dress clanging together in a noise that seemed faint to him but made her wince.

There was perspiration on her forehead, and she looked rather thin– slimmer than usual.

“What do you want from me now, Jon Snow?” 

 “I need to speak to you privately–”

“No.”

“Please–” _No_. Jon knew she would say it again and stopped himself.

Squinting, he saw something in her eyes… _terror, pain, discomfort_. He could not get a grasp on what he saw but he knew it was not from him because she could have waved for a guard and stormed past him.

There was something wrong with her.

“–Do you have parchment and ink?”

Dany looked at him as if he was a complete idiot, but she held a sack and a book, and they were in a market in a city she knew. If anyone could get any, it would be her.

He was not keen on sending a raven or a messenger a mile away with information that could cause trouble. Jon insisted.

Turning away from him, Dany took a few steps, and Jon thought that was it– her walking away from him again until a man standing next to a crystal table came to her side. It was her red-bearded guard with brown eyes and cropped brown hair.

She said something to him, and he went off for a few moments. 

Dany leaned against a pillar watching him as he stood in the middle of the city streets, _in the way_ …

It took all of a few minutes for the man to return and for him to look up at Jon with a hard sneer. The man flicked his wrist once, commanding Jon to come over. And it took all of Jon’s might not to curl his lips and rebuke the order.

When he moved closer, Dany held out a small black stick. “Khol,” she said, and a piece of parchment.

The other man was still glaring at Jon, and Jon did not like it. 

Glancing at Dany, and to the man, Jon motioned for the man to turn around, to which the other man didn’t react, but looked to Dany.

She scanned their faces, but Jon was not senseless. If he were to attack her or her guards, he wouldn't do so in a public place where people knew her and would defend her.

Dany motioned for her guard to comply.

“Thank you,” Jon muttered. 

Placing the parchment on the other man’s back, Jon began to write despite what he believed to be expletives rushing out of the guard's mouth.

When he was finished, Jon folded the paper and turned to Dany who was still leaning against the pillar and handed her the sheet, and to the other man, the kohl.

Shoving the message in her bag, she walked off.

*

“My name is Jon Snow,” he told the merchant woman the day she began acting skittish around him. It was also the day he saw the bruises on her arm.

They were in the shape of a hand and she refused to give him her name.

The selfish part of him wanted this to have nothing to do with him– for it to be a problem in her home but she was not the type to take beatings lying down. She had a kind friendship with the young lady that made potions eight carts away. So, Jon knew the merchant woman would have ways of getting rid of a man that did not please her.

“ _Snow_ … Knew you ain't from here,” she tutted, packing her stand up early, casting wary looks around. “Snow. There's no snow in the East. You must be from the West,” she said more to herself than to him. “With a name like that, I know you’re trouble.”

Smoothing his hand over his beard, he replied, “Aye.” Glancing around, “You haven't the faintest clue.”

“You should leave.”

Jon laughed. It was full of bitterness because she was right. Her and Dany. 

He hadn’t gone to her in the pyramid and he hadn’t sought her out. He wondered if it was because of the note or because he was still him, and she was still her.

A loud curse pulled him from his thoughts.

The merchant woman dropped a basket, so Jon went to help her.

She recoiled.

His hands fell and his face drew together, “You’re scared. Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t like talking to rich men,” she spat. “They either always want something, come to take something that's not theirs, or hurt people.”

While she threw miscellaneous cloths, coins, a knife, and sacks into her case, her face fell into an expressionless mask. Jon understood her words were meant for him as well.

He gave her one solemn nod, stood, and walked away.

VIII

The merchant woman did not set up her stand the day Dany appeared in the market again.

She was looking at herbs in a beige frock that looked far too heavy to be wearing in the heat.

Jon frowned as he peered closer.

She didn’t look well. 

Scanning the perimeter for the man with the red beard, Jon panicked for she was gripping the sides of the cart.

The last time he saw her, she had been leaning against a pillar with clammy skin, now she looked about to faint.

The first mistake Jon made was striding forward in an attempt to help her. He had always been careful to alert her of his presence.

The second mistake he made was reaching out to her before she fell, for the moment she recognized his face, she shoved him, stumbled, and fell anyway. 

Of course, the alternative was that she would have just fallen without any aid. And looking back at it, it probably would have been best, for she was shaking, and her face was cast in horror.

Gasps sounded around him, and before he knew it, someone was shouting at him while the ladies from the brothel around the corner came running to her. Then her guards arrived, and before he could question them as to where they were when she needed them, he was pushed away.

Perhaps Dany had protested but the loudest objection came from Mikloz.

 _No_. 

That was Jon’s final mistake– getting close to anyone in the East… especially a woman and her young boy. Don’t get involved, is what Jon wished to say to the child. _Nothing good would come from me._

The boy shouted in Valyrian and went straight for Jon’s arm and tugged.

Everything seemed to slow down as Dany stopped moving, _Red Beard_ arrived, and the men in dark leather appeared.

The faint sound of her name fell from his lips as he tried to get near her again, but no one would let him by. His throat started to tighten, and his vision was blurring. He could feel the void. 

Everything was turning dark and the only thing he could hear was, “Sir. Sir! You are scaring me, _sir_.”

“I’m not supposed to be out here or around you no more… Mother is going to have my arse… _Sir_!”

The little boy.

Jon looked down to see big round eyes staring at him. Mikloz’s rich chestnut curls were falling into them, as he tried pulling on his hand again. He allowed himself to be led away. 

 _Breathe_ , he told himself. She would be fine. She is not your responsibility. You tried. _You failed._

“Sir, what is the matter? You’re scaring me.”

Taking a deep breath after abruptly turning into an alleyway when he noticed one of the men in the rich leather go down another street to his left, Jon asked, “Where is your mother?” His voice was raspy and rough.

The boy shrugged.

“Do you know that woman?” He was talking about Dany.

The child nodded. 

“She is very important to High Commander Naharris, sir,” he paused. “She reads to us every other moon and gives the ladies at the whore house clothes and moon medicine– _mother says_ to her friend Ava-”

“Listen to me very carefully,” Jon interrupted. “Go to your home and do not open the door for anyone other than your mother, do you understand me?"

The boy paused.

“Do not try to steal, con, or go back to studies– just go home so she will know that you are safe. Something is not right.”

IX

Jon let the void return before he attempted to see her again. He let his melancholia cast over him like a shadow at dawn. He let bitterness travel down his spine– like searing fire. He wanted it to reach his toes so that he could feel the burn at his feet with every step he took toward the pyramid.

Her guards allowed him to climb it, watching him eye the dark ravens perched at its peak. They were letting him know that he should understand that he was a problem. 

And then, of course, they stopped him at the main entrance, but Jon did not take orders from her men. Jon took orders from nobody anymore, no one person but her. If she told him to leave, he fucking would. But she did not.

“Let me in. I know she’s here and I need to speak with her immediately,” Jon stated sharply.

Ushering him to the throne room, they informed that he could speak to their second in command.

Jon did not wish to speak to anybody but her.

At least he was inside now. 

Every time a new guard walked in, he recounted; three by the throne, two by the entrance, two outside the entrance, one on each side of him.

He could take out the two beside him without his sword, then take the sword off their bodies and wait for the ones by the door that would come to him first because the pyramid steps would take a moment to descend. By then he would have Longclaw back and the rest of them would be dead–

“You again?” _Red Beard._

He was always with her, and he was the one in town when she fell.

"Something is wrong with her," Jon said smoothly, not moving, in case he still had to attack. "And either you tell me what it is–"

The man's head tilted. Jon was inclined to believe that the guard didn't know… however, there was still a chance that the other man could just simply be displeased by Jon's audacity. 

Slowly letting the words past his teeth, Jon continued, “–let me see her, or tell her to come out here.”

“She’s ill. Not in the spirit for company,” the man clipped. “And we do not command her.”

“Ill?” Jon bit. He didn’t let the panic he felt show. “ _Still_? With over a fortnight of bed rest?” 

Too many thoughts ran through Jon’s head. She could have been poisoned. The ravens. The marks on the female merchants he bought from. The book. Her eyes. 

“I knew that woman for months and not once did she fall ill– not once did she utter to me about “falling ill” for a fortnight after fainting in the middle of a street in her past.”

“Perhaps you do not know her as well as you thought. Moons don’t equate to the years I have been guarding her,” the other man snapped.

“And have you seen her like this?” Jon simmered down but only for a moment, for he saw uncertainty flash on the guard's eyes. _No_. “I thought not, and you don't know her as I do." Perhaps Jon did not know her well, but this man had to know her less.

“You are not armed.” _Mayhaps he was_ … with overconfidence and sheer recklessness. “Mind your tongue.”

“What will you do?” Jon questioned. “Hurt me?” The darkness in his mind clouded his rationality. Hollowness was in his chest, and determination was singed on to his flesh.

“I hear your name is Jon Snow–”

“So, you have heard of me?” Jon laughed with an edge in his voice. 

He was tired. _He was too old now too._ He either wanted them to fight him or move out of his way. “I must be important, aye?”

The other man’s eyes squinted as he began stepping down the stairs. 

“If you touch me and she finds out when… if she gets better, _you are dead._ ”

 _Red beard_ scoffed, taking his final strides towards Jon. He must have thought because he was larger, Jon would become intimidated. But the man’s size only told Jon how much harder the other man would fall if he crossed him.

“I haven’t heard of you,” Jon spoke. 

The man had a short sword on the left side of his hip, and after dismissing the two guards beside him, Jon calculated that he had at least four seconds to crouch and slam his elbow into the man’s ribs if need be.

“I don’t know you,” Jon spat. “ _But_ you’ve heard of _me_. I am not a violent man, but _I am dangerous…_ even more so now that I am angry. So, hear me– I can take down half of the people in this room without touching a sword, and then easily take down the other half with one.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jon could see two guards by the far-right step forward.

He steadied his feet, “Do not play with me when it comes to her. I have faced things far worse than you can even imagine.”

 

As soon as he walked into the firelit chamber, he was assaulted by the scent of decay, sweat, and mint. 

Dany’s trembling body was covered by a light sheet that stuck to her, outlining the divs and curves of her silhouette. He could hear her breathing turning into quick pants as he neared, but her back was to him.

Spoiled food collected on her bed table while the doors to what Jon supposed was her balcony was covered and shut. The room was unbearably warm– and it was by the fire that had been stoked too much.

He glanced back at her guard, obvious worry on his face now.

The man shook his head.

Quietly toeing his way to the other side of her feather bed, Jon swallowed, his hands began to shake.

Darkness patched under eyes like she hadn’t slept in years while a spider web of purple veins traveled down her arms. Her lips were blue, and her cheeks were sunken in. She looked as if death had taken her twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My pride and joy of this chapter is the moodboard because I spent fiveever editing Dany's hair a pale blue and her eyes bloodshot and purple... AND NONE OF IT FUCKING SHOWS 🤗 
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed and comment! 
> 
> And thank you to all the lovely people that shouted me out on tumblr for fanfic author appreciation day. I don't deserve you guys and I WANT to say this is for you but Jon is being emo and welp– Dany is unwell... So, I'll dedicate the chapter in the future with smut to y'all because y'all DESERVE IT. Thank you, thank you, see you in two more weeks <3


	7. Blood Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I wanted to name this chapter Contaminated because I have been listening to BANKS non stop but alas, we have Blood Rain.
> 
> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza who was stressed out the entire way through LMFAO
> 
> Enjoy.

**C.7**

_**Blood Rain** _

Dany's POV

X

It was the book. It must have been the book. 

Dany had gotten arrogant and brash after years of scavenging Valyria; touching uninhabited land, seeing parts of the peninsula that was supposed to be in ruins, and finding objects with power and knowledge people could not even fathom. 

She had always chosen a good scroll to inscribe rather than gold nuggets and shiny volcanic rocks, but this time it had been a mistake. 

Kinvara had set aside the ruby-encrusted book on an altar, Dany noticed when she had returned to Valyria. Although questioning the other woman would have been a wiser decision, Dany preferred to do so only when absolutely necessary for the witch’s answers held riddle and omniscience. 

Whether it was to distract herself from Jon, or because of its allure, Dany wanted it. She was drawn to it the moment she noticed it, but she knew she shouldn’t have taken it, let alone opened it... it looked too good, too inviting, and too precious. 

After years of rummaging through her motherland, she was advised that unless one owned any book of enchantments to not touch it, or at the very least be invited in by it to open it… and she had not been–but she still wretched the thing apart.

Once the rubies fell out, Dany could feel the unread words searing themselves onto her flesh and visibly see them disappear from the parchment.

She knew the curse would be grim when even the exiled Grace at the very edge of the dark market turned her away. 

When her head began spinning, Dany thought hallucinations were the first thing to be expected when the curse either took her life or coursed through and then out of her… but the delusions did not come until far later.

 

The pain settled **_first_**.

Dany was not scared to die _but the pain_ … she felt it in her fists and feet, shaking through her spine, and shooting through her veins. She was in a black abyss of pure agony as anguish built in her throat.

Unable to make it stop, she thrashed, snarled, and fought against it–because she would not die silently again. 

She let the torture wrack through her body until her vision burned with suppressed tears. 

All she saw were hands in the darkness–reaching out to collect her, to pull her deeper. They were prodding, touching, grabbing, and squeezing, and no matter how much she pushed, she was surrounded.

She screamed.

“Dany!”’

Her body jerked forward to see dark eyes littered with worry.

_Jon._

She screamed again.

 _No_ , she thought. _Not again. No. No. No._

A spasm ripped through her as she tried to push herself back. Her bones felt like they were rubbing against each other, and her blood was liquid fire piercing through her.

Panic engulfed her.

_“Dany, please.”_

_No. No. No. No._

Her brother's voice echoed in her mind, though it was not her brother that said it. _No. No. No._

People were always begging her for things she could not give… absolution was for the gods, patience was a virtue she was never gifted with, and forgiveness required her to be the person that watched her best friend and sons die. 

What did she ever get in return? A slap across the face and a knife in her heart for trying.

… And still, it hurt to be begged… and it hurt to try. 

_“Help me help you.”_

The plea lingered in the air as Dany opened her eyes again. There were no hands, but Jon’s eyes were still assessing her. He was knelt at the edge of her bed, his hands visible and splayed against her linens.

A guard barged in–sword at the ready but lowered it immediately when he noticed that Dany flinched.

Glancing between her and Jon, Dany could see the question within the guard’s features on whether Jon should be there or not.

And he shouldn’t have been. 

So, Dany asked, her voice low, rough, and chilling to the core–why and what exactly Jon Snow was doing in her bedchamber.

She heard both men intake a breath, but Jon sighed, dropping his head to her bed, gripping the sheets. His body language expressed defeat, and while it always did, his face held an unnatural amount of ruin.

Her nerves began to crawl up her spine alongside the scorching spasms. 

The guard paused, “I–He threatened to kill everyone if he did not see you…”

“And you all then proceeded to let him in to see me? Have you–” 

“I said I could help, and you hadn’t moved in days,” Jon argued, lifting his head.

This time she got a clear look at his entire face, noticing the bags beneath his eyes, the length of his beard, and his cheeks… which were scratched red with distress.

Dany’s eyes narrowed as he continued, “Your guards can’t contact Daario, but they sent a messenger to Volantis… they will not tell me why–”

“You’ve been unconscious,” Jon looked back down as she glared between him and the other man. “Under your eyes are dark… Look at your hands, you can see your veins and they look purple–and you’ve been coughing–”

Looking down, Dany examined her hands and saw that her tan unnaturally faded, leaving her skin pale and sickly. She could kill her men for allowing him in, and the guard seemed to understand that for his head was low as Jon implored, “Tell me what to do. I know you do not want me in here, but at least let me send a message to Daario.”

The curse would kill her, Dany figured. The grimoire had been in a sealed box that when opened had collapsed a temple. _Of course the curse that came along with it would be fatal._

“Where is he?”

 _Valyria_.

The word sat on her tongue and wished to touch her lips, but Dany would not let it past her teeth.

Jon Snow could not know. He was a terrible liar and secret keeper. She did not trust him. _And_ he did not deserve to know.

“Be quiet.”

She could not think. She needed to think. 

Could Kinvara leave the peninsula and it still be safe? Was Daario still there? Who, beside Kinvara would be stupid enough to try and save her again? She hoped Drogon would not come for her–

“You could die,” Jon shot back and right through her thoughts. 

His voice went straight to her head, sending sharp sensations through her body. Dany winced, clutching her temples.

“I said be quiet!”

By the time she glanced back up, Jon had moved closer. She could not even shift away for her vision blurred and she faded.

 

The memory loss peaked **_second_**.

When Dany awoke again, Jon was leaning back into a chair. 

His hair was cut shorter and his beard was trimmed. The darkness under his eyes was worse but he looked less disheveled and rather comely.

 _For what_? She wanted to ask but could not because there was a burning at her neck. 

Gritting her teeth, Dany peered closer. She would have thought him to be sleeping but upon scrutiny, she saw that he was glaring at her boarded-up balcony. He probably pieced together that she was frightened of his family seeing her.

“There is a fresh lemon cake on your table–your guard brought it,” said Jon quietly. “You should drink some water.”

She could not even muster an indignant ‘no’ because her throat felt like it had been clawed out.

Glancing to her side, Dany noticed the treat was perfectly packaged, unwrapped, and from the cart she loved. And she was hungry… _ravenous_ actually. But paranoia shot through her like an arrow. She halted her trembling hands from grabbing the cake, placing them back on her lap, refusing to touch neither the food nor the jug of water.

She heard Jon release a tired breath.

Dany glanced up to see him staring at her now.

He stood and she stiffened. Her body was weak, and she felt frail. There was no way she’d be able to fight him off, and with her voice gone, she could not even call a guard.

Clenching her fists into her sheets, she tried to back up as Jon took steps to her bedside table… but when he stopped next to it, Dany frowned. 

He poured a goblet full of water and took a large gulp before offering it to her. Instinctually, she reached out with shaky hands and she cursed herself for it. 

After that, he opened the package containing the cake. 

Dany could have snarled at him. Just because she didn’t want to eat it, didn’t mean she wanted him to.

Wrinkling his nose, Jon crumbled off a piece and put it in his mouth. He made a face of distaste as he chewed, and when he was finished, he opened his mouth to show her that he swallowed it.

As he started to walk back to the chair, Jon turned and reached for the goblet still in her palms, and took it, finishing it off and then pouring another.

When he gave it back to her, he went to sit. 

Dany was frozen.

“If it’s slow-acting, you will know within the hour,” he stated as he leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes. _Was he tired or did he just not wish to look at me?_  

He should have left, Dany thought while placing her water down and reaching into her night table. She wished to tell him, but she couldn’t.

Pulling out a mirror, Dany realized that she could not recall the last few days… _weeks,_ she supposed. There were gaps in her memory.

She remembered looking affright the last time she awoke but nothing could have prepared her for what she saw in the looking glass now… The whites of her eyes were pools of red, her irises were iridescent–one moment they looked a pale violet and the other a stormy blue-grey, and the hollows of her eyelids were sunken in and surrounded by darkness.

“It’s _really_ bad,” Jon murmured as he rubbed his face.  “And I don’t know how to fix it–how to help you. Please let me help you… tell me what I need to do, ” he pleaded as he leaned forward in the chair.

Dany wished to snap and say that she could not tell him a thing because she could not bloody speak. But she didn’t because she physically _couldn’t_. So, she just stared with hard eyes willing the blank patches of her memory to return.

“You keep waking up and every time you do, it’s like you are another person...”

 _What?_ Dany’s eyes narrowed.

“You called for Missandei the last time you woke and did not know who I was–” Although that sounded ideal, not knowing him and the thought that Missandei could come running to her, Dany’s heart began racing. “Another time, you just awoke screaming...” Dany blinked slowly, lowering the looking glass. She wanted to laugh because she did that with or without the curse. “One time you recognized me and threw a comb, and yelled for Daario–”

Dany could admit that sounded like an unreserved version of herself.

“This is the longest you’ve been awake for some time and you have to eat… If you don’t, you’ll die.” Jon’s voice did not break the longer he spoke, instead it got stronger… as it always did when he wished for people to truly listen to him.

Dany spent years wishing to die. So, she did not fully understand why–but she bloody drank the water.

The despondency that was easily read on Jon Snow’s features brightened and her throat started to hurt less. She thought that perhaps if she drank more, then she would feel better, but coughing started and blood speckled on to her sheets instead.

Her hands flew to her mouth as embarrassment coursed through her, but Jon did not look shocked. He just stood and opened her wardrobe, pulling out another blanket, offering to take the one she had around her waist.

“Please try to eat,” he urged, tugging the linens, as emotion welled in her eyes.

Dany stared as he placed the cake in front of her, tossed the sheet out of her open doors, and then sat again.

After drinking another goblet of water, she bit into the cake until it was all gone. While her throat loosened up, she later found out that was a terrible idea.

“I feel sick,” Dany was able to croak out after a few moments.

Jon fumbled as her stomach turned, scanning the room for a bedpan. 

Dany pointed under the bed.

“It’s the sugar of the lemon cake,” Jon muttered while he held the pot for her to wretch in.

She almost laughed.

“I–If you knew that would happen,” Dany coughed. “–why did you give it to me?”

“I knew you'd eat _that_ if you were hungry.” Jon looked as if he wanted to reach out and push back the wisp of faded blue hair from her face. “Something is better than nothing… And I needed to know if you’d have an appetite.”

She did.

“I was told before that you had not eaten anything besides broth,” he informed. “And you’ve eaten not even once since _I’ve_ been here.” Jon’s face was placid as he held the pan.

She wanted to tell him to put it down and that she’d call someone for it, but her throat was sore again and her head hurt. Darkness would take her again–she could feel it.

 

The numbness began to spread **_last_**.

Dany awoke in the middle of the night to silence thick enough to suffocate her. And she needed to go to the privy.

She could feel her legs, so she thought that was a good sign. Swinging them over, she attempted to stand and wobbled until she felt a needle-like pain climb her calves. It weakened her stance until she eventually toppled over and knocked the tray on the table beside her bed over.

Dany fumbled around until a guard came in.

She felt helpless and stupid and all she wanted to do was scream because she was frustrated. She didn’t want her guard to assist her. She didn’t want to be touched at all.

“The privy–” she managed to choke out.

“You have a bedpan, Your Grace,” the guard’s eyes went wide.

_Right._

Since when did she use that, Dany wished to ask, but by the look in the man’s eyes, this mustn’t be the first time she’d forgotten.

“I still wish to go to the privy,” she stated quietly as the man shifted her on to the edge of the bed.

His back was stiff as he stared at her. 

Adaran, she knew his name was. Daario’s tall guard with the red beard and pretty daughter. He was from the free cities, but her mother had to be Ghiscari for the girl had amber skin and hair with dark red in it.

The man looked worried.

“Why won’t the commander tell me where he leaves to?” asked Adaran discreetly.

Dany eyed him curiously. The Second Sons were not sentimental folk. They were once paid to do a job.

“Because I told him not to,” she stated.

The man nodded and silently asked if he could touch her arm to guide her. 

Letting him, Dany stood uneasily on her feet. He carried most of her weight until she got to where she needed to be and managed by herself.

She was not well. She could smell it in her piss, feel it in her body, and still see it on her face as she glanced into a looking glass on her way back to her chamber.

“Where is the book?” Dany questioned.

The man frowned, “In the sack you left it in… I put it in a chest and then in another chest and then locked it in a box…”

She nodded. She probably told him to do that.

“Will you get me parchment and ink?”

Adaran looked mystified but nodded, nonetheless.

“Do you know who Daario’s most trusted messenger is?”

“The boy from Braavos,” said the guard.

Dany mentally agreed. She had just wanted to know if he knew.

“Bring him to me–tell him that we will pay him triple his usual amount.”

Adaran hesitated and glanced at the empty chair Dany had been ignoring since she awoke.

Swallowing, the guard took his order and began to exit.

“Did _he_ leave?” Dany called out feebly, making the man halt.

“ _Yes…_ to wash up and sleep,” Adaran turned around and stroked his beard. “He refuses to sleep around you. He will be back soon.”

Dany tried to stop the onslaught of emotions that threatened her composure. She was dying… a long, painful, and exaggerated death. Almost alone, which was to be expected, she supposed. 

And even though she was ill, Jon did not trust her, not even to rest near her. At least that was what Dany thought. 

A long time ago, she was his only solace. 

It didn’t matter, she resolved. None of it mattered, she tried to remind herself, coming back to the problem at hand.

“We have him watched… but he is right. Your Grace, I fear that I am worried now too,” Adaran pulled her from the depths of her mind.

Dany blinked once, and then twice before the man gave a solemn look and left.

*

_“What is all of that? Who is she?”_

_“Who are you?”_

_“Is that some sort of magic spell?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Stop. Stop this. Stop all of this.”_

_“I do not take orders from you–so, quiet down or I will have you removed.”_

_“Try–”_

Dany groaned as she lifted her head.

There was a faint orange glow to her chambers as the fire crackled fiercely in her hearth. The room smelled less of sick and more of coal… but the air was still thick and dense, making it difficult to breathe.

Tasting the acidity of magic in the room, Dany gripped the edge of her bed, only it was not her bed. _She was not in her bed._

Glancing around, she noticed she was atop an altar and surrounded by dripping candles.

 _Did she die and get resurrected again?_ No. She was in her chambers for her door was still boarded up.

“ _Dany_.” She saw Jon next. 

He sidestepped away from Adaran and a woman in red.

“Your Grace–”

“Please don’t,” Dany muttered at the female with golden eyes while numbness trickled down her shoulder and spine, branching through every limb, and shooting straight to her toes and fingers. Her body collapsed back down.

Dany gritted her teeth.

“You’ll need to drink this,” the woman reached out. 

In her hand was a vial that contained a red liquid.

Not only did it seem demented, but it also looked like it tasted atrocious.

“ _Wait a moment_ –what the hell is that?” Jon snapped, breaking her gaze at the substance.

His eyes were hard and the lines on his forehead were the deepest she’d seem them. His stress radiated a dark tension that sliced through the air like a knife. 

Dany could not tell if he was more angry or worried, but her head hurt.

“Blood rain,” said the woman plainly.

“And that is?” His words were stern and precise unlike his hair which was sloppily scooped up into a knot and his tunic which was untied leaving one of his scars on full display.

Dany swallowed the bile that was rising in her throat, trying to dispel the ache in the chest.

_“Blood rain to numb the pain.”_

Turning her head abruptly from Jon to the other woman, “Blood rain to numb the pain?” Dany snorted. She could not be serious. 

The woman did not even falter. 

“Are you serious?” Dany had to question with a low drawl of her voice as she closed her eyes and focused on trying to move her toes. 

_Nothing._

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Dany tried at her fingers.

If she kept pumping her fist, some dexterity returned.

Silence wafted through the air and Dany opened one eye to see Adaran, Jon, and the other woman staring at her.

She glared back at the men until Adaran sighed and pursed his lips, walking to his post by the door. Jon would not waver, so she skipped to the female.

Golden eyes. White skin. Dark curly hair.

Dany blinked.

“Who are you?”

That was a mistake, Dany realized, for Jon immediately stepped in front of the altar, ready to attack the unknown woman.

_They thought I knew her._

_Men were so stupid,_ Dany wished to roll her eyes. Adaran probably thought she looked like Kinvara and Jon must have thought her to be the red witch that brought her back.

“The high priestess sends me,” the woman took a step back, glowering at Jon briefly.

“And where is she?” Dany almost snarled but a sharp pain traveled down her spine causing her to welp.

Jon turned around to assess her.

“Deep in the bowels of–”

Dany cut her off, “Why is she not here?”

“I am better at blood magic, Your Grace.”

Jon began cursing to himself.

“Do not call me that,” Dany bit again, ignoring him. She could almost feel her whole hand enough to move it.

“And what is it that you wish for me to call you?”

“Not that,” Dany grounded her teeth as she tried to wiggle her toes again and felt nothing, not even the numbness. _Fuck_.

“Very well,” the woman reached her arm out again, stepping around Jon.

“I don’t want it,” she denied the witch, squinting at Jon who looked feral with disgust.

Instinctively Dany reached out to calm him, but she caught herself. _At least I can move my arm now,_ she thought sourly.

Still noticing, Jon lowered his head, fixing his expression to where only his lips were curled, and his eyes were glassed with spent anger.

“You should take it,” the red witch pulled Dany from her thoughts. “The high priestess thoroughly insists.”

“And where is she with such instance?” Dany nearly seethed sarcastically, wondering just what the hell Daario and Kinvara were doing. Every hair on her body stood with rage because he should have been back at least once by now or sent a message.

“ _Indisposed_ ,” the witch quickly glanced at her boarded-up door. “She sends her regards.”

Comprehension dawned on Dany– _The West_. _The Ravens. Brandon Stark._ She did her best to collect herself and not give thought about what could be happening in Valyria while she laid nearly paralyzed on an altar. _Again_.

“Where are you from? I know that accent,” Jon questioned, his eyes hardening again.

“Asshai,” the woman replied coquettishly.

Dany scowled at her.

“It is told that you do not speak much, yet your eyes say a lot,” the witch continued.

_It is told?_

“I don’t trust witches,” Jon stated, his jaw firm.

Dany could feel the animal in him stirring as he looked the other woman’s relaxed frame up and down, assessing her for weaknesses.

“Well… thank R’hllor it is not you on this table,” the priestess gave a humorless smile before turning to Dany. “Would you like him to stay?”

“No,” she replied instantly, taking the potion from the witch’s hand.

The witch’s eyes widened, as did Jon’s, but Dany had been exercising her palms while they were busy arguing.

“Dany–” he began to protest.

Jon was not only from the West, but from the northern region. He only knew his Old Gods and whatever ice demons resided in that frigid tundra. He would never understand this nor the Valyrian magic that was in his blood.

“Leave.”

“You have no idea what that is. It could kill you…”

“Apparently it is blood rain… _to numb the pain_.” She had a lot of that, so Dany made as if she was toasting and let the liquid slide down her throat.

It smelled of sulfur and tasted both hot and cold. It was as awful as she suspected–moving like thick mud down her throat.

“And how does that work?” Jon asked after taking in a deep breath.

“Very quickly, so I will need you to vacate the chamber,” the priestess stated.

Dany started to feel hazy. 

The potion left a distinct fiery feeling as it traveled in her body, twisting and turning, coiling its way through her like a snake. She unconsciously leaned back down–laying on the altar.

 _“Can you come with me for a moment?”_ Dany could not argue Jon to leave the woman alone for her voice had been stolen again, and this time by the substance. 

She heard their footsteps get further away and Jon’s voice deepen.

_“I did not catch your name…”_

_“Melira.”_

_“Melira from Asshai?”_

_“Why is that important to you?”_

_“So, people know whose body it is when I send it back if you harm her.”_

_“They said you were bold.”_

_“They who?”_

_“The flames.”_

_“I don’t want to hear that.”_

_“Then you should not have asked. Mind your tongue when you speak to a priestess,”_ the witch warned finally fanning Jon’s flare of hostility.

_“Or what?”_

_“You have tasted death and decided it was sweet, haven’t you?”_ the other woman probed, her voice sickly sweet and haunting. _“You want everyone to eat what you have been forced to consume?”_ she continued her questioning. _“I don’t care to indulge–Now if you’ll excuse me, Jon Snow.”_ Perhaps Dany had missed when Jon stated his name… or maybe the sorceress knew. They always knew. 

“ _And do not open those doors no matter what you hear, or she could end up worse off than she is. I hope you truly do care.”_

Fear welled in Dany’s gut. She hated witches sometimes. She hated witches from Assahai especially–with their singing and their chanting. They played with shadows and sang to demons.

Perhaps, Jon was right. But Dany could no longer move any part of her body as the potion seemed to reach her feet. She could feel them now… but they were burning like the rest of her body. 

Melira shut the door and walked over to her. 

“I will take your clothes off and put these on you, is that alright?” Dany wanted to say no as the witch held up three cerulean crystals and two rubies… the two rubies that were on that bloody book. 

Melira unlaced Dany’s shift and slipped it off her body. She tried to suppress the shudder that came over her as the other woman’s cold hand slid over her, but it was a weak attempt.

The witch placed one of the crystals at her ankle, and Dany gasped at the iciness.

 _It burns._ Dany was confused as Melira placed another at her knees, the ruby over her belly, another blue crystal at her heart, and then the last ruby on her forehead. 

“It is ice cold,” said Melira as she dipped her finger into a bowl that was smoking. “Fire and ice, my queen… it burns the same.”

XI

The scream that had been festering deep in her throat finally came out, loud and piercing, slicing its way through the room.

What Dany did not expect was a yelp back.

Opening her eyes, she noticed Jon’s pink ones. He looked disheveled and tired.

He stood and reflexively, she shrunk back.

“I’m not going to hurt you–,” he said gently, sitting back down. “You've been out for four days.”

“Where is–” _The priestess._

“Melira?”

Danny nodded, not remembering the witch’s name too clearly, and narrowing her eyes...

“Gone... She left at dawn–You should eat,” Jon responded.

“I’m not hungry,” Dany stated strongly but her stomach betrayed her.

“Your body says otherwise. I’ll call for someone–”

“I can do it. You can go…”

Jon stood and nodded.

“If that is what you want–just please eat or at the very least drink some water. We were only able to get down some broth and water last night.” 

“How long have you been here?”

“Five days…” Jon said carefully.

“You haven't left?”

“Only to bathe and eat–” Jon started to respond as a gust of wind blew through the room.

Ignoring his protest, Dany jumped to her feet as soon as she noticed the doors to her terrace were open.

 _The ravens!_ she practically yelled to herself, casting a petrified look to Jon who seemed to be rooted to the ground, staring at her in both panic and horror.

He stumbled back as soon as he realized that she detected him staring at her. 

While he turned away, Dany glanced down.

_She was naked._

Her chest. The scar… “Too much for you?”

He was silent for a moment before turning back around and croaking out, “Just thought you’d want privacy. I–she must have bathed you before she left.”

 _Privacy?_ Her doors were wide open. She didn’t just want privacy, she also wished to be stared at like she was a normal person, not as if she was some dreadful abomination.

“Just leave,” Dany told him, hoping her voice did not sound frail, and lifted a sheet to her chest.

She needed to shut the door, but she felt scared of it, so Dany glared.

Jon swallowed, “You are upset–”

“How many ravens are on the pyramid?” she snapped.

“Less than before,” Jon said slowly, following her gaze to the balcony. “I did not open them… the boards were down when the witch finished doing–”

He walked closer to shut the curtains, “She said to let the air rid itself of the _demons–_ ”

“Please don’t come any further,” Dany raised her hand.

His face fell and he nodded, walking around to the other side of the bed, “Just drink some water before I go. There is, _ah_ , stuff inside that’s supposed to be good for you…”

Jon poured the water full of mint, ginger, lemon, and strawberries into a glass goblet.

“I don’t want that,” she dismissed.

“It’s water, not poison,” Jon huffed, taking a drink from the chalice. Dany knew he was upset when he slammed it back down and picked up what she supposed was his sack.  

Just before he made it to the door, he glanced back. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already. I have been here with you for days, and completely alone with you for hours.”

Dany quietly lowered her body back to her bed, feeling her knees begin to tire. 

“Do wish for me to leave the city?” He turned his back to her for his final question before he pushed towards the entrance.

She wished for him to just shut up for a moment so she could gather herself together.

Jon looked back when she did not answer.

While his eyes were still on her, Dany reached over– picked up and took a sip from the same glass.

When she heard Jon puff out a sigh of relief, she turned in the direction of her curtains billowing in the wind.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BABY STEPS! 
> 
> Here is part two of the things you guys will never notice nor care about but I really want to say because I'm a loser; I gave Jon undereye bags in the image of Kit on the mood board -grins cheesily- if you want before and after, hit me up on tumblr 😊 
> 
> -clears throat- Sorry for being a week late. This story took a hard left and I ended up adding like five chapters from chapter 5. Thank your peers because points were made on Dany's characterization and I was already not satisfied enough so I decided to go back to the drawing board LMFAO 
> 
> LOL at our baby girl's 'I need to hate you but I really want you to love me but I don't need you because you're shit but I'm shit too' energy. A messTM. 
> 
> I decided to play with her development, hostility, and mistrust towards Jon some more as well as Jon's darkness and PTSD (I hope you guys can point out the little things going forward). Let us be patient with them as they slowly but surely get closer. Which is code for–let me be patient because I just want to show you guys a Targ baby already -whines- I spent a lot of time on that. Me, Rone, and Alice went back and forth deciding on names and aesthetic for ages and I REALLY want to show y'all. But Jon and Dany still haven't even held hands, let alone had sex, which means we aren't close, which means I'm sad. 
> 
> Anyways, Alice was Jon in this entire Chapter, which as you know by now is; stressedTM. She laughed a few times because Dany is an ass and we stan. Alice also seems like she's captain of the 'we must protect Jon Snow' stan club of this fic, so I hope you all and her make it through the next three chapters okay. After that–like once we hit like chapter 11... if y'all don't want to suck Jon's dick, idk what to tell you. It ain't me, it ain't him, because my boy is a TREAT. A snack. A meal. The dessert. *chefs kiss*
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr: i-am-small.tumblr.com. I occasionally give sneak peeks, if y'all ask... and troll myself because I am a mess. 
> 
> Please talk to me in the comments LMFAO leave a heart, or yell at me about Howl (because a bitch is tiredt. that fic is making me sweat), or tell me what you enjoyed about this chapter! I'd love to know! 
> 
> love you all lots -xoAngel


	8. Twin Flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I am so tired. It's like 3am but I promised this chapter would be up because if I start waiting months to update then this will be just like Howl and I fucking refuse.
> 
> Anyways, I love y'all. And I hope you love this chapter because Alice nearly died reading it. And I do have to say I like this chapter. 
> 
> Also, as always, beta'ed by the lovely @aliciutza.
> 
> Enjoy pain <3

**C.8**

_**Twin Flames** _

Dany's POV

XII

Dany needed to see her son. She could feel his temper coiling inside of her. 

The curse must have dulled her senses because now that she had been freed from it, every night the feeling of violent flames snaked around her tether, tugging at her until she whimpered. 

Kinvara had finally sent her word and while it abated her temporary disdain for the woman, it also intensified her existing ire for the Western lands; Valyria had almost been “ _breached_ …” _Whatever that truly meant._

Dany understood the ravens had been tracking Drogon for years. It was why they could never be near each other for long and why the bitter cloud that was cast over her was so potent.

For ages, there had been little reprieve, no privacy, and hardly any comfort. And she could feel him inside of her–full of longing. Kinvara had sworn she could fix it, and the witch finally had; they were unable to reach him while he was inside Kinvara’s binds on the peninsula, and that apparently made the West more insistent.

Dany knew her son must have been causing a mess and that Grey Worm had to have pacified him while she was ill. The pain she had been in was too great for him to not come, but it seemed to fall upon her at the perfect time; import and export. Trade from Naath had taken place as Kinvara got word to Melira of Asshai… and Drogon would listen to her former commander before the witch and the Second Son’s leader.

The High Priestess informed her that Daario and Yara Greyjoy were patrolling her motherland. The witch even went as far as to joke that Daario would make a good captain, but Dany was too frustrated. Even before Jon had given her note that there were spies in her city, she had known that something was not right, and she hadn’t the confidence to throw out orders to men she did not command. 

Daario needed to return.

After sending a missive stating such, Dany toed her way through the streets with Adaran some paces behind her, watching her every move, until she saw Jon speaking with some female vegetable merchant. 

He was in all black; black boots, black breeches, black tunic, and a black weapons belt that no longer held Longclaw. _Too obvious_ , she thought. 

Dany agreed with him now…. black was his color. Brown did not flatter him nor his character. 

Stability used to ooze off the Jon Snow in a brown jerkin, but the dichotomy that he was, both safe and dangerous, reckless and cautious, and honorable and chaotic fit the Jon Snow in all black. She could not help but ponder what he would look like in red. Would he then seem as threatening and seductive as he secretly was? Or maybe a deep sapphire… would that, then, bring out the grey of his irises, the uncertainty of his actions, and the melancholy that tickled his skin?

Dany blinked, halting her line of thought.

She glanced back at Adaran to see if anybody caught her gazing at the northern man. 

Her guard did, giving her a perplexed look, but went to mind his business until she figured out if she should walk up to her former lover. 

She wondered if she should thank him for helping her. Her guards had said he hardly left her despite her fuzzy memory that conveniently only showed the gaps in which he was missing from the chair in her bedchamber.

A smile broke over Jon’s features before a scowl. 

Dany frowned. It was not for her, but for the merchant.

Tilting her head to the side, Dany did a once over. He and the other woman’s gazes looked heated and she could not fathom what could elicit such feelings from him. 

It irritated her. Dany would be a liar if she claimed it did not.

Narrowing her eyes, she moved toward the cart until she was beside Jon.

She was quiet and smooth, and yet, he glanced up, right as she stopped. He glimpsed at her twice, assessing if she was indeed there, but Dany turned to the woman, who nodded and bowed her head to both her and Adaran who was approaching.

“Anything I can get for you, my lady?”

Dany forced a curt ‘no’ down her throat. 

Instead, she pointed to one of the woman’s crates, stating that she would take the whole thing and that she needed it packaged though she didn’t. Dany just needed the woman busy so that she could speak with Jon.

As she pushed a blue wisp from her face, she heard Adaran clear his throat, wondering what the hell they would do with a crate of baby tomatoes. Her guards knew she wouldn’t actually eat them. At least not that many….  

She nodded her head in the direction of the orphanage and the brothels, silently communicating to him that they would usher the goods there.

Shifting towards Jon, “I am leaving,” Dany disclosed, looking like she was interested in an onion too.

“Why are you telling me that?” The question was so abrupt and nonchalant that she froze, lifting her head to him. 

His brows furrowed.

Feeling her cheeks tint, Dany swallowed and started building back up her wall of pride, brick by resentful brick, “ _Very well._ ”

“I meant _why–_ you never have before…” Jon explained before she attempted to flee. 

_Oh._

Dany stared, feeling stupid.

Jon Snow was an idiot but not that much of an idiot.

Getting angry, at herself more than him, she gritted her teeth, “You can’t storm my pyramid like a one-man army again, Jon.”

_Thank him, not fuss_ , she chided herself. But, then, he arched her brow with an infuriating smirk, “Your pyramid?” 

Dany scowled, put down the onion, and turned to leave.

“Wait!” And she fucking halted.

“My apologies,” he murmured, fixing his face. He was not supposed to be a liar and he was lying. He wasn’t sorry. “Where is it that you are going?”

“Asshai,” she kept her tone low.

She wished to relieve herself of the book. And unfortunately, she needed to gather information on magical objects. 

While it was not necessary for her to take responsibility for the actions of the people from her motherlands, she was still aware of what her ancestors did and what they were like. And because she kept unearthing items with maledictions, she did _feel_ mildly complicit. Any of the items she had Daario sell previously, could have harmed someone–and not everyone had the means to seek help, let alone had a witch at their beck and call. 

She had been putting items into markets that have not been seen nor dealt with for centuries. 

Her desire to help others and rid herself of her sins could cause problems. It was a fact Kinvara refused to accept, and Daario did not care enough about–as they were still sweeping through the peninsula. 

Her commander often insisted that better could come from her decision to restore Valyria, but to Dany, that did not defeat the bad either. And she was not sure she wished for that to make home on her conscience as well. _Too late now._

“Why?”

“To figure out what is wrong with a book.” It was almost the complete truth. The book most likely came from Asshai and was tampered with at Valyria. She wanted to return it to its lands after gathering information on it.

“Why don’t you send a messenger?”

Dany sighed, frustrated, “Because I do not want what happened to me to happen to another person who may not have the means to get better…” 

“Are you saying that the book made you ill?”

“No, _I am saying the book cursed me_.”

Jon fell silent.

Dany picked up a pepper too, pretending to weigh both the vegetables in her palms, catching the merchant watching her and Jon out of the corner of her eye with an amused look.

Before she could glare, Jon asked, “May I come with you?”

“Pardon,” Dany snapped her head to him, bewilderment on her features.

“Can I go with you to Asshai?”

XIII

Dany wished that she had said no. She wished she would have listened to logic and reason. She knew she hated her life, but by the end of the first fortnight of travels in the Dothraki Sea, she realized that she might love herself some to feel as if she did not deserve this hell.

Her and Jon did not get along when they first met. 

They fell into lust, respect, and then, _perhaps_ , love, depending on who one would ask. They had the war to deal with all that time ago. Prolonged fighting never seemed sensible then… 

But nevertheless, it was not an immediate fondness. And that certainly showed now.

Dany, unfortunately, gathered that they were indeed far too similar, too jaded, too scared, too hurt, too stubborn, and too prideful. Small increments, like his visits to her and their time in the markets was apparently all they could take from each other, for they fought over the stupidest things.

The first few days, the quarrels were about how they should set up camp, to which she had to remind him that this was her land. She had been a Khaleesi. After that, when they were a week and a half in, hunting rabbits in the grass, they had a spat about what good food was. It had been her against the men, them stating that they absolutely needed to hunt, whereas she had been perfectly adequate with picking wild berries and placing vegetables over the fire to roast. And then finally, by the fourth week, she’d grown beyond irritated, bringing up the lady in the marketplace that Dany did not trust.

_“You don’t trust anyone,”_ he had said to her, obviously gathering the hints of jealousy blooming in her tone as well. 

Neither did he, she’d told him. 

_“Exactly, so what are you upset about?”_ he snapped. 

His voice had risen an octave above his normal tone and Dany saw red. She had been trying to explain that he needed to be mindful, just as he did with her. 

_But Jon Snow was not an idiot._ He knew she was jealous.

Adaran had told her at the following dawn while them, her other guard, and Jon, were silently packing up–that it was her tone, and Dany almost told him to piss off.

Two days following, the uncomfortable silence broke when Jon offered his bread, noticing that she did not feel like eating the meaty soup she made when she noticed that his voice was getting scratchy. It was a silent apology that they both took as he sipped slowly from his bowl and she nibbled on his rations. 

 

But the peace didn’t last long.

Jon was mild tempered but something seething simmered beneath him and it sparked up at night. He became restless and guarded and his expression thickened with something she could not even decipher. And he _never_ set up his tent near her.

She stopped being offended when she thought about how she could feel knowing that he was that close, but there was still a small part of her that wanted him to at least try.

_Stupid_ , she’d call herself, when she’d found herself staring at the top of her tent for hours, listening to him and Adaran’s boy rustling about.

Jon was also wary. He may have developed a fondness for sugar cakes over the last few weeks, smiled _once_ when she tripped over a boulder, and climbed his way into her mind at night after he laughed when she won a marble game against Adaran, but his caginess was becoming smothering the longer they stayed on the road. It started worsening when they began to exit the Grass Sea, passing a hoard that gave them a chilling warning about the shadows.

While she was not disturbed, Jon side eyed her apprehensively. His features begged her not to make him go further towards the fog, but it was not Dany’s idea for him to be venturing through Essos. 

_I should have left him in Meereen,_ she scolded herself, because, by the time they entered the Shadow Lands, he looked drained of life and started asking if she was hearing rustling, voices, or faint whinnying… 

She wasn’t. 

As Jon’s eyes got darker and dimmer, Dany worried that it was the magic of the grounds getting to him. 

“Melisandre was from Asshai… the woman that–”

Dany furrowed her brows at his tense posture, “I know who she is.” 

They had been riding hard for days, and her thighs hurt, and she was getting tired and impatient. 

Dany told Adaran privately that she wished to stop as few times as possible, staying by the mountains, and far away from the ghost grass. But in order to do that, they needed to rest longer, so, Adaran sent their other guard to find safe spots ahead of them.

“She burned a little girl alive.” _And you killed a boy,_ she wished to retort. 

And she’d burned down thousands. _He killed her for it too._  

_People go through great lengths to bring justice or do what they feel is right_ , Dany thought. Melisandre was no different. Priestesses held strong faith. Whether Dany agreed with the sentiment was neither here nor there. 

As the quiet droned on, Dany glanced at him. 

“So did I, you had said… For her–at least it was only one,” she stated dismissively, trying to focus on navigating in the lessening light. They were trotting, keeping a reasonable pace as they waited for the other guard to finish patrol.

There was a certain hushedness in the air that made Dany halt.

She peeked up, to her sides, and then back, looking for Jon, only to realize that he had stopped a few feet behind, just staring at her.

“Wasn’t expecting that answer?” Dany could swear she saw disappointment and muted anger.

Pride seeped from her. He should have known by now what he was dealing with. She was no hero. She was not misunderstood. She was well aware of what she did.

“No. I thought you’d-”

“Despise her? _Certainly_. If I hadn’t met her, then I wouldn’t have met you,” she bit, feeling her temper lock on to her like a vice. She could not shake it, in fact, as quiet surrounded them, she felt it flare, bubbling inside her of her like a volcano ready to erupt, spilling her wrath across the rocky foundation of mutual understanding he was attempting to build.

There was a distant look on his features that resonated tiredness, comprehension, _and_ confusion. 

Her horse wanted to move but she kept the dusty mare steady.

“She told me to send for you.” So she had. And because she met him, she was in the middle of Essos festering in misery.

“You never said–”

“I never knew it mattered.”

“You regret it,” Jon noted, more aloud to himself than to her.

But Dany answered despite herself anyway, “Which part? Listening to her and meeting you or going north?”

He did not need her to continue to make him hate himself further but seeing his face downturn with sadness enraged her. _Poor Jon_. 

The betrayal he endured seven years ago was of his own doing. She tried to help him, warn him, and love him, and he took her heart, and stabbed it.

She would have cherished him like none of his other family would have, like no one had. They could have been together, ruled together, made a better world together. She could have given him safety, comfort, or freedom if he’d liked. She could have given him everything he’d ever dreamed of and even the things that he could never fathom. Anything he wanted would have been his. He had deserved it–he fought, fought for life, and justice, and honor, and kindness. 

However, all of that existed for everyone but her. She wasn’t enough. She was never enough. 

But he had given her hope that she could be. And then abandoned her.

_I hate him_ , was her immediate thought, and then came a dark chuckle that she heard only in her head. _Do you?_

“If I hadn’t met you, then I would never know such heartbreak.” _Or good love if even for a time._ “My children wouldn’t have died, Missandei wouldn’t have died, Jorah wouldn’t have died, I wouldn’t have died.” _It was war_. “My people wouldn’t have died for men and women that looked at them like they were a walking disease.” _But he had been a good man._

“I-” Jon’s horse walked closer, but Dany had hers back up while she ignored the voices in her head. She pulled the reins forward and right for a turn.

It was funny how a few choice decisions could change an entire narrative for her.

“I should have stayed on my island, with all three of my children, and never let Jorah leave with you,” she mumbled, feeling a sting in her eyes. _Then Jon Snow would have died_ , she told herself. ”I should have let the Night King devastate your lands.” _Then Jon Snow would have died_ , she accepted sourly.

An eerie silence surrounded them but neither Dany nor Jon could not see past the trauma. “And since I know your wretch of a sister was so certain that little Arya killed the Night King all by herself and that you all did not need me… perhaps, just maybe, your lot would have won,” Dany shook her head as her knuckles went white around the reins. 

“I should have played Cersei’s hand and done nothing. Perhaps Tyrion Lannister was right about one thing. I should have done nothing… waited until your army depleted. The north would have had to bend the knee anyway,” she was about to put her heel to her horse and move up when Jon protested.

“That was not what you wanted. I know it wasn’t. I saw your heart and it was good–”

_Was_. Dany let out a bitter laugh, turning back to him, “In all my years, Jon Snow, life seems to have a funny way of telling me that what I want does not matter. And everything I lose is for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for fucking nothing–”

Wrath spread over her, and that warmth was better than the searing hurt.

“You are right, it wasn’t for nothing. It was for the northern men and women that hid behind my soldiers when the long night came. It was for the people in the Riverlands and the Reach that did nothing–people that will remember me as a foreign whore.” People that despised her for no reason. “They will never know what I did, and what I sacrificed. Because the survivors write history. And the survivors hardly like themselves, how would they see anything worth a good story in me. See? _Nothing_.”

_I gave everything and got nothing._

Jon lowered his head.

She hated to remind him, but life was unfair and cruel. “Westerosi people stand for nothing. They will fall for anything.”

“Is that why you won’t return and take vengeance?” 

“I don’t need to set them on fire for them to crash and burn,” she drawled, letting the words melt on her tongue so she could taste savage reality; her innocence had been murdered by brutal men, her youth was wasted fighting pointless wars, and her heart had been shredded.

His eyes glossed over.

She never wanted to be the enemy.

“You should go home,” Dany said once more. 

“Doesn’t sound like a place anybody would fucking wish to be,” he stared her straight in the eyes, jaw clenched in obstinacy, as the last bits of light in the sky faded around them.

Dany could swear that the flames in his veins were Targaryen, not the wildling some northern men had secretly claimed… and it certainly was not Stark. Dany recognized the arrogant toned dismissal and woe that filled him to the brim.

“ _No_? Not under Queen Sansa Stark, and King Bran the Broken?” Dany spat. _The dogs of the north_ …  perhaps her father and brother were right about some things. Never trust a Lannister or a Stark.

“Your father and his Lady Wife would be so proud–”

“Stop it,” Jon snapped, finally cracking. 

“My apologies, did that hurt?” Dany drolled, watching the rise and fall of his chest and the slew of profanities leave his lips. She wondered if the darkness he tried to hide within himself would spill tonight.

_It would be wonderful_ , she thought. They were in the middle of nowhere. Who could stop her if something unfortunate were to happen to him?

Dany swallowed, watching his tongue slide across his lips, wetting the chapped parts as he closed his eyes and tried to even his breathing.

Something in her stomach fluttered as she watched the lump at his throat bob. 

The moonlight casted a beautiful shadow over his face, highlighting the angle of his stubbled jaw. It was drawn tight in scorn and discontentment. She finally struck a nerve, and it hurt for the air around them was thick with tension… and something else she could not put her finger on. It all seemed to thrive in the dark.

It was as if they were in their own world where their regret and grief bled into each other–where they stoked each other’s fire and let it thrum to the same beat. 

His eyes held her in place, and it made her sick. 

She should have known he’d return to her. They always had the air of inevitably swirling them. Jon Snow was everything she feared and desired most: justice, endurance, bravery, recklessness, comfort, pride, love, and hate. He had come into her life and became it. Then he took himself and it away.

But when she looked into him, Dany could swear she saw herself staring back. He seemed to stir and steady her at the same time. 

A loud thump cut violently through their reverie. 

“You heard that this time, aye?” _Jon_.

Another noise rocked the ground, and Dany snapped from him just as an urgent whinnying ripped through the air. 

“Where are your guards?” Jon’s disgruntled voice called out as he felt for his sword, moving his horse around her, protecting her.

Her men were supposed to be behind them but when Dany peered around, there was nothing but the shadows the moonlight did not reach.

“Dany, we have to leave right now–” he started to say as a black stallion sliced by him, spooking his brown mount, knocking him to the ground.

Dany bit back the horrified yelp rising in her throat at the crunch that was produced as he fell. _I lied, I take it back!_ She did not want something unfortunate to happen to him. She did not hate him.

“Jon!” Dany began to hop down, but he shouted at her not to through his groans. He told her to keep going but he should have known that she would not leave him.

She pushed down from her horse and braced herself for the landing. 

As soon as her feet were on the ground, she took off towards him as he grunted in frustration. She tried to help him from the ground, but he hissed at her.

“My left shoulder is dislocated,” he flinched away. “I have to–”

Jon jerked her down with his other arm and pulled his sword forward.

Before she could scream for help, her cloak was drenched in warm blood.

Jon jumped to his feet before she could even gag. 

Dany crawled around to face the clanging of swords.

Another man had appeared, weapon drawn. Jon stepped back and then to the side as the man advanced cautiously, trying to get a look at the bleeding body in front of her. 

Dany thought it was obvious that the other man was not trying to kill him but before she could blink again, Jon’s sword swept past the man’s neck. The body fell to the ground.

“Dany, grab the horses and stand behind me.”

After jumping over the first body that fell, Dany followed Jon’s orders as he scanned the area around them.

He winced every time he turned his head.

She could feel her heart beating fast as she took the reins and reached her arms out toward him. He grabbed her hands with his right palm, gave them a squeeze, then let go and picked his sword back up. They needed to get out of the Shadow Lands. 

In her head, she tried to calculate if it would be easier to ride out to a port or continue to try and make it through. When Jon squinted back, she knew he was thinking the same. It would take them a few more days and they needed at least one more long stop or their horses would buckle.

“Jon–” He shushed her, pointing to his lips and then his ear, as he crept around.

For the first time, Dany felt fear for herself. Standing beside Jon, gazing at Jon, wanting Jon’s warm hands back in her own, she was scared to die.

Her tether burned as she heard rustling.

Dany surveyed the area before reaching for a weapon off the body of the dead man and covered Jon’s back as he held his sword, ready.

When a figure ran out of the shadows, it took a moment for Dany to see, but when she did, she screamed for Jon to stand down. _Adaran’s boy._ Her other guard.

Then another figure emerged, the one they supposed must have been chasing him. Jon passed forward and pivoted before advancing. With the edge of his sword, he swung–not to kill but to maim.

Dany studied the man as he fell to his knees. He was pale with light eyes, thick beard, and greasy hair–and entirely unfamiliar.

“He cut down Ser Vhassolis,” said the boy. _Adaran was dead?_

Dany turned to the boy with horror in her eyes before a grunt from Jon tugged her back to the man on the ground. He was not in Essosi attire. So, Jon leaned forward, “I am going to only ask you once–where are you from and who sent you?”

The man glanced at Dany and glared with disgust. 

Jon killed him.

Dany tried not to focus on how easy it was for him to look a person in the eye and take their life as he whirled on the boy next to her, furious, “What’s your name again?” 

“Essah,” he stuttered. 

Jon made a face because they knew his surname. Jon wanted the first. 

“Harlen Essah.”

“Where are you from?”

“The Free cities–I think–I grew up in Meereen–”

“Do you know them?” Jon’s voice was unkind as he noticed Dany did not loosen her grip on the blade she held. But she was surrounded by one angry man, one frightened man, and three _dead_ men. 

The air reeked of blood, and she’d prefer to be around anything other than men at the moment. 

Her anxiety was pooling in her stomach. 

She felt dizzy.

“What–No!”

Her tether burned again.

“Jon!” she dropped her weapon, taking in a deep breath, realizing that he probably thought she was scared of the boy.

“They were following us, Dany!” Jon yelled. “How did we not see them in the Dothraki sea? It’s a bloody field!”

Dany wished to state that it did not matter in the moment but instead, chillingly said, “ _Lower your voice when you speak to me._ ” 

Her tether burned thrice.

Jon clamped his mouth down and let his eyes flutter shut before he spoke again.

“How do I know you are trustworthy?” Jon gritted out to the boy while dragging his feet towards the bodies. He began searching them with just his right hand; lifting a limp arm, removing weapons, readjusting the jerkins… 

Harlen paled, peeking at her, but Dany refused to take her eyes off of Jon. He went body by body, quickly, assessing them. His features grew gloomier as he pulled coin pouches and knives. 

“I don’t know, Sir. I–Ser Vhassolis just told me that he needed me to help guard something precious–”

“He patrols the city, Jon. Leave him be for now,” Dany sighed, both frustrated and taking pity. They needed to get out of the Shadow Lands before they started to hear chanting too.

“I’ve seen you before, I think. Don’t you creep around the brothels–”

“Me mum was a whore before she died,” Harlen lowered. “I grew alongside some of those girls…”

As the boy’s voice got softer, Dany glowered harder at Jon until he raised his head from the last body to read the silence. 

Her expression dimmed and Jon apologized.

“We had cut down three bodies almost a mile back… I had found flat land and when I returned, we were surrounded. You both were too far ahead, uh, _speaking_ … He told me to run to you both before he was killed.” _There were six of them._

“Are you certain he is dead?” Dany finally shifted to Harlen, taking her scowl from Jon. 

“It was a lot of blood, my lady.”

“Perhaps we should go back and check–”

“ _No_ ,” Jon shook his head. “You have to get on the horse and keep going.”

“We’ll double up–” she heard Jon say to Harlen, but she ignored him, switching to the bigger stallion and just waited for him to figure out his way up.

She knew she was the best rider out of the three of them and he was already wounded.

It took a few moments before Jon was at her side with his hair falling in his eyes. His face had some blood on it.

She had to look away from him.

“Are you sure?” he murmured from below her. The sound of his voice made her want to squeeze her eyes shut.

Dany swallowed her nausea and just stared ahead, waiting for him to mount.

“I’ll be fine with him–”

Finally glimpsing at Jon, she realized that he was terrified.

He’d have to touch and hold on to her.

They could hardly get along for more than an hour and he’d be seated right behind her for _hours_.

She knew he might be fine but she did not want to risk him getting hurt further or in pain and struggling with the bruised-up boy that was petrified of him.

Jon gave her a single nod and motioned for the young man, “I need you to hold on here and push gently until we hear my shoulder snap back into place.”

“Sir, I can’t presume–”

“ _Please_.”

Harlen looked between them desperately before he ultimately did what he was told to do.

The crack, though low, felt deafening. Dany grimaced when Jon groaned out in pain. 

She felt her insides plummet as Harlen let out a slew of apologies when Jon knelt over and cursed.

After what felt like an eternity, Jon stood straight and gave a large exhale, scrunched his face, and shook off the pain. He sheathed his sword and put the items he found on her mare before tying the reins to his stallion so Harlen could not run off.

Jon guided the animal she was on to a boulder which he climbed to mount better.

Dany stiffened when her back flushed against his front.

As Harlen pulled himself onto her old horse, Jon muttered out an apology and asked where she would feel comfortable being held.

_Nowhere_ , she wished to say, but Dany just moved his arm to her lower stomach.

“Are you sure this is fine?” Dany could feel the kiss of his warm breath on the back of her neck. 

Her tether was searing now.

“Dany…”

She shivered as his arms tightened around her belly.

Despite the blood, he still smelled like leather, snow, trees, and mint. She hated him because he was hot against her; warm, and cold. _Burning_ , like fire and ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for loving my crackhead notes! I have a twitter where I am also a crackhead and kimilia trash (fair warning and srry to those that might be offended–big yikes for me I suppose). If you'd like, y'all can follow me at @silverdoes on there bc iamsmall was taken. I post future chapter quotes on there sometimes and teasers! Same with my tumblr which is i-am-small.tumblr.com
> 
> But uhm, yeah. Hope you guys are doing pretty good after this. This story is progressing much better. sorry for the delay AGAIN. I fucked up the travel time and had to go across three chapters to fix it. 
> 
> I am estimating that I will have the next chapter with my beta on Monday, then I'll finish the one after that soon. We are cruising now. If they don't fuck within the next five chapters, I'm throwing hands with myself because I AM TIRED. I want my mfing baby. 
> 
> AND omg, if you guys are alive, pls help me! I want to do a tumblr edit about zodiac signs. If you were to give hbo Got and asoiaf characters a sign, what are you giving them? 
> 
> I have a friend that said that Dany could be a Scorpio and you know, several points were made. I always felt she was an Aries but POINTS were made. I also saw someone on tumblr say Leo, and I'm calling the police if one of y'all say that shit too. I WILL CALL THE COPS. I got money that Arya is an Aries but I am willing to bend. Gendry is a Taurus, you can't change my mind, but you can try. I want perspective evidence and analysis on that one. Jon? Capricorn? Sagitarrius? Cancer? He's a tough one tbh... Okay, but is Sansa a Scorpio or cancer? I feel like book Sansa and pre s8 Sansa could be a cancer but s8 Sansa feels Scorpio–like the amount of petty in her has to be a water sign. Tyrion is a Gemini, change my mind! Sam? Marg? Davos? Mel? Robb? Cersei? she has to be a Leo... There are so many characters, go ahead, if you have time, list them out, even if they aren't up here! Just specifiy between book and show if you need to! I would love to hear from y'all! I really want to make edits so pleaseeeee and thank you.
> 
> Comment and love me. It makes me feel good. Even if it's just a "<3" I will love it with my whole soul.


	9. Phantom Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A week late but at least it's not three months late like Howl ahaha -ducks-
> 
> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza.
> 
> Enjoy all the typos I made reediting <3

**C.9**

_**Phantom Feelings** _

Dany's POV

When they arrived to Asshai, Dany did her best not wince at Jon’s stiff posture and blackened features as they passed the threshold of the city. 

He had been quiet the remainder of the trip, only speaking to ask if she was fine whenever he shifted behind her. He kept his eye on the boy and his palm splayed against her belly, thumb stroking the silks on her stomach.

When they rode hard, it had been less distracting and frightening, but his grunts of pain kept her on edge. As the sun rose, they slowed their pace and the softness of his touch became prevalent which reinforced her anxiety. She was no longer certain of what scared her most; the fact that he could hurt her, or the fact that he could still love her despite what he had done and who she was now. 

His voice, when he alerted her that Harlen had found water, vibrated between them. It was low and husky, and sent shivers through her body. 

She needed to be terrified. 

And she wasn’t. He was not doing anything besides holding himself steady and mindlessly moving his finger. 

She could have told him to stop, but she didn’t want to. 

Apparently desire still bloomed within her.

If Dany had ever thought about seeing him again, she would have sworn that his face would be repulsive, that his touch would have been tainted, and that his eyes would forever haunt her. _Hell_ , she thought that moons ago. However, when she glanced back, all she saw was curly hair, full lips, a scowl, and sadness in his dark eyes. 

He was pretty… just now, in a lost way.

She was thankful for Harlen. All the other male did was keep the quiet away, lessening the dread building in her chest, and effortlessly passing the time with idle chatter.

They had cleaned up the best they could near a creek after a few hours of rest, but the evening chanting had started. It seemed to be bleeding from the temples and thickening the air with wickedness.

Neither her nor Harlen were taken aback for the boy was traveled and she’d been to Asshai numerous times over the last seven years. However, Jon was not handling it well.

He had been right before, after all. Something hadn’t been right. They had been followed.

Dany saw the paranoia in his eyes and how his stare only left her to quickly assess their surroundings every other step they took. 

Despite his left arm being newly strapped to his body, he did not appear unformidable. 

He seemed safe to her, but his stare was dangerous.

She shifted closer as Harlen pointed them to an inn and sorted out the rooms. After she requested for a healer, Dany could feel an argument bubbling as she began sifting through their remaining sacks that Harlen had thrown down in Jon’s chamber while they waited for hers to be cleaned.

“Stay with him,” she said to the boy from behind a screen whilst removing her stained cloak and slipping on a thin black frock with a hood that she pulled overhead. “And don’t consume anything–”

The healer had just waltzed in as Dany finished securing her garment and ordered Jon to sit still.

Dany took advantage of the situation, pointing for Harlen to make himself comfortable in the rickety wooden chair near some water that they needed to use to bathe.

“No,” both him and Jon protested at the same time, but Jon got tutted at by the old woman. _Good_.

She glared at the men, wondering why she still seemed to hold expressions that people insisted on questioning.

“Apologies,” murmured Harlen, averting his gaze from her in shame. Jon was not as receptive though, shaking his head vehemently. 

“I am not asking for permission.” Dany did not need to explain herself to either of them. She had made sure Harlen got two rooms, situated Jon in one, and called for a healer. That was enough.

She just wanted to get rid of the stupid book.

After assessing the woman with dark eyes and age ridden shaky hands, she committed the lady to her memory and gave Jon a pointed look, leaving no room for argument.

Dany could tell the boy wished to fight back as much as Jon wanted to sit up from being tended to, but she needed to get to the temple before the sun fully set.

“I have been to Asshai before,” Dany dismissed. She knew the city.

“With Ser Daario…”

Knowing that the boy was worried and not trying to control her, she reluctantly reached her arm out to quell his nervousness despite her discomfort. She was far more concerned with leaving two comely men in a city full of chanting sorceresses than she was about being attacked.

“I will return soon. He is the concern. His death is something I cannot afford, and he has a penchant for attracting it–” Dany looked down as she said quietly. She could not believe that a few days ago she thought she could leave him for dead.

“And I, _you_ , my lady,” muttered Harlen glancing at his feet. If she died, Daario would kill him.

“I have to go… If I don’t return in six hours’ time, then you can come search for me,” Dany offered.

Harlen nodded obediently. 

“Get some rest, the both of you… and sell the horses.” 

Dany took the sack and slipped out of the door, ignoring Jon’s groans of protest.

*

Dany wondered how chaos could be silent… because that's what the people of Asshai were; either solemn or chaotic.

The roads were eerily empty as she walked along the black cobblestone. The air felt full and despite the voidness, she knew there were eyes watching. She could not see them, but she knew they were there, almost waiting for her to uncover her face and bare herself.

With its haunting ambiance, Asshai was never Dany’s favorite place to be. It was why she sent Daario to the appraiser or had him send for one. But she had frequented the city enough for a very _minute_ few to know who she was.

 _Yes_ , Dany thought, _keep the streets empty for me._

They knew she was coming.

She didn’t feel like looking at anyone and she certainly did not fancy people openly gawking at her like she was some myth, relic, or broken thing. She was content in that they had the decency to show some subtlety though scarlet candles of welcoming littered the city center.

When she was angrier, Dany had loved the way the night glowed red and black. It had been a reminder that she was a dragon breathing fire, and no matter how corrupted and defeated she felt, she was strong. She used to let the humming caress her mind so she could remember Mirri Maz Duur. And when she did that, she recalled the suffering and rage, and that expelled the guilt. 

Now, there was no humming. _And_ she was in front of the main red temple.

The silence she had been praying after for weeks was so inconvenient to her now.

“There is no chanting for you tonight, Lady Targaryen,” said a man with black lips, amber eyes, and a head as smooth and shiny as porcelain.

Dany blinked, lowering her hood.

She sighed as she regretfully took the man’s palm, in kind etiquette, as he helped her climb the stairway.

 _I need gloves_ , she made a mental note, wanting to gag. She did not want to be fucking touched by him.

“We have been waiting for you.”

“I am sure,” Dany pursed her lips as the smell of charcoal spread up her nose.

The hallway she was led through was familiar, but they all were; ruby and winding, layered with lit candles spilling wax on to the stone ground–making the corridors sweltering hot.

All Dany could think was that if Jon was with her, he might’ve passed out as the temple servants fell to their knees when she walked into the altar room.

Her eyes narrowed and her blood boiled when they were not dismissed or told to rise.

“Pull it out,” Ashlanna ordered, coming from behind the rich amber curtains in the back of the altar, with a sheer red veil covering her lips.

Dany bit her tongue as she reached into her sack walking up the steps to the High Priestess. 

The woman’s long auburn hair was undone, falling far past her waist. 

She wondered if she was interrupting something when the witch arched her brow, “You should have waited for a palanquin… no reason a woman as yourself should be walking these here streets alone.”

Dany blinked as the priestess ordered something in Asshai’i and clapped her hand twice.

Everyone started exiting the room.

“You still don’t speak much, do you?”

Dany ran her tongue along her lips, assessing the witch’s green eyes. 

Ashlanna was less entertaining than Kinvara, and absolutely less insufferable. The woman always meant business which Dany could respect. However, Dany could also see duplicity on her face. 

In naught but a moment, the priestess could have the whole city up in arms ululating and chanting until the winds howled and ground shook if anybody spoke against her. 

Despite Dany’s physical silence, her mind screamed against the other woman. She had tattooed slaves that were kept temple bound, and men that partook in uncouth practices. 

“Is this what all the fuss is about?” the witch asked as Dany dropped the book on the shrine.

The husk of the priestess’s thickly accented voice permeated the air.

Dany stared at the woman as she poked at the center, watching the rubies… _flicker?_

“You can keep it if you can take the curse off,” Dany muttered when the witch began stroking the binding of the book.

“A present?” the priestess pulled back her veil revealing a beautiful set of white teeth.

“It belongs here, does it not?”

Dany turned her back to the witch, walking over to pots of foul smelling burnt items, attempting to see just what exactly she had walked in on.

“I suppose,” the woman mused from behind her. “What is it that happened exactly?”

Dany did not give her a spectacular riveting tale; she had opened the book. The gems fell out. She felt a searing on her skin and then proceeded to fall into weeks of illness that caused memory loss and delusions.

“Did Melira not tell you?” Dany turned back to see the woman reclined beside her altar, atop black satin pillows, _reading_ the grimoire.

_She opened it?_

“She has not come back here for some time,” said the witch with furrowed brows. “I believe her to be in Volantis currently.”

“Does that bother you?” Dany queried.

“Does your nephew being in Essos while the West wishes you dead and him back beyond the Wall again bother you?”

Dany froze.

Trauma immediately jolted her. It was one thing to know that Jon was her nephew, but to have someone, _who should not know_ , boldly state it, sent tremors of shock through her. All she could do was stare until disturbance set in.

She was not only being watched by the West because of Jon, but Jon was being watched by the East because of her. They know where he has been and that he was with her. They could be watching him right now.

The feeling of suffocation made it difficult for her to breathe, but it was her wrath that made her stagger back.

Sensing Dany’s hostility, the woman glanced up from the book and gently closed it with a slight smile.

So many things passed through Dany’s mind while the witch waited for the answer they both knew she would not give. _Is he and the boy safe?_ _Should I leave? Should I kill the witch? Would she or Jon ever be safe?_ _Did his family really wish for Jon to stay in misery at the Wall? Did they expect him to kill himself, was that it? Why do the witches always know him–was it Melisandre or the fire? If the West wants her dead, how far will they go? How unsafe were **they**?_

“And these are protection stones, not rubies, my love,” Ashlanna continued as if she had not just pissed Dany off, holding the stones in her palms. “They are deceiving… meant to fool those that want spoils that aren't theirs.”

All she wanted to do was read it, Dany thought angrily.

“Did you say the enchantment?” The witch turned the book around and tapped the bottom.

Dany did not understand Asshai’i as well as she wished.

The priestess motioned for Dany to sit beside her. “There is a passage on the back that you are supposed to hold up to a mirror.”

Curiosity replaced her ire momentarily, for Dany lowered herself to the ground. She swallowed her discomfort and antagonism as the woman leaned toward her smelling all too familiar; blood and ash.

Nausea fell over her while Ashlanna pulled a mirror from her other side and held it in front of the text, “It is code… only legible like this. Then the crystals will change color and come out and then you can open it.”

Dany had never thought about secret writing...

“Can you take the curse off or not?” she bit, pulling away

The priestess frowned. “I can try…” 

 

After hours of watching smoke fill the air and fires flare and dim, the curse seemed to be gone. Ashlanna had even called one of the servants to open and close the grimoire a few times which only infuriated Dany more.

“What did you say those did again?” Dany pointed to the crystals.

The priestess gave a dark chuckle that made her skin crawl, “Does your Kinvara not tell you anything?”

Although she thought to retort that the witch tries, Dany curled her lip instead, “Isn’t she _your_ Kinvara as well?” 

Dany hated disloyalty more than the other woman’s jab to her ego. 

“No need to worry, love,” Ashlanna’s voice was sickeningly sweet. “I still respect my elders, but she has been focusing more on _other_ things than her religion…”

 _Me_ , Dany understood. _Kinvara is focusing on me._ Power laid with her; the red witches all knew that. Either death or glory would come from a Targaryen and since death had already come from her, Dany believed Kinvara thought it was only ascension from there.

Valyria was opportunity. It was also a vision that was making those in power that were gaining knowledge, uneasy. _Like Ashlanna._

With ancient magic, relics, and sacred texts with lost knowledge swirling the ruins, Kinvara sat atop a gold mine. Dany’s motherland would make Kinvara the most powerful High Priestess of their time and she would certainly be remembered in history as the red witch that made Old Valyria new again.

“Isn’t it R’hllor that wishes such?” Dany eyed Ashlanna.

The witch smiled.

“I believe it is these that she uses to protect what is _yours_ , you should question her,” the priestess shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but Dany could see the stiffness in her back. “One of this size can surely protect a few specific people from all types of evil eyes. You should wear one,” the woman looked genuine for a moment before she slipped on an expression of apathy. 

“I suspect that Kinvara was testing to see if they were harmful before she used them on people, but such gems have been worn and passed down through centuries. You can find crystals alike it in markets,” Ashlanna scoffed as if she was not impressed with the High Priestess of Volantis. “They are usually fake or spelled but if you have the eyes for it, you can tell when they are real.”

“And how can you tell that?” Dany probed, stepping closer to the other woman, assessing the stone.

“They turn black when they are not activated. You can tell it is working when it is red.”

“It’s red now.”

“The book does not want anyone in,” said the priestess. “These, as they exist right now, are keys–together they help make the book legible. When you read the enchantment, they will turn black, and then you may open it and the texts can be read.”

Crouching down, Dany picked up the discarded looking glass and sounded out the Asshai’i words until the stones turned black.

The witch lifted her hands, “ _See_.”

“So, you mean to tell me that if I keep these, that book cannot be read?” Dany felt the stones in her palms. They were cool to the touch and a bit sharp around the edges, but smooth overall.

 _Silence_.

Dany got her answer.

Reaching into her pocket to retrieve her coin purse, Dany placed the small bag on the altar.

Dany did as she vowed; the witch got the grimoire, and Dany got it uncursed. She never promised that the priestess would be able to use it. 

*

When Dany returned to the inn, Harlen and Jon were leaning against the wall holding candles near the entrance. 

Harlen immediately smiled but Jon was still sulking. She knew he wanted to scold her, but Dany could tell that he was holding his tongue.

He looked better. His hair was back up into a knot with only a few curls hanging into his face. There was no sweat catching at his forehead. He looked clean but his eyes were still wary.

They had new clothes as well, she noticed as she got closer.

“We have some bread and cheese inside for you,” Harlen said, but when she went to thank him, Jon asked her where the grimoire was. 

Dany’s eyes narrowed and she snapped before she could stop herself, “With the witches,” she replied tersely. 

Jon made a noise while Harlen casted a warning look to him.

Of course, Jon Snow didn’t listen.

Dany pushed past them, careful not to touch Jon’s strapped arm. She wanted to yell at them for standing in the inn alley, where anything could happen to them, especially after speaking with the High Priestess of Asshai, however, she was distracted by Jon’s audacity.

“You’ll leave a cursed object with witches?” Jon questioned as soon as they stepped into his chamber.

Dany gritted her teeth as she turned to face him.

She did not know why she just did not explain to him what she did–perhaps she wanted to fight.

Confusion entered her mind the same time irritation trickled down her body.

 _No_. She didn’t want to feel good around him. She wanted to feel unsettled and she wanted him to stay disappointed. They were better apart than they were together. That much had been shown, she thought. She needed to remember that.

“It’s not my book,” she snapped. “It was written in both Valyrian and Asshai’i, but the signature was in Asshai’I, which means it belongs here.”

“And you trust them with that?” Jon retorted as Harlen tiptoed by them.

 _She did not fucking trust anybody._ “It’s not my problem,” she bit, avoiding the full truth.

“How can you say that?”

“How can _you_ say that it is? The fact that I brought it here to get cleansed myself–” She _now_ refused to mention that the witch wouldn’t be able to open it without the keys that sat in her pocket because he did not trust her. _He will never look at you the same, not after what you’ve done_ , she told herself. He would never trust her. It did not matter. 

 _He must think I am an idiot too_. “I’ve done enough as it is.”

“But–”

“I know you do not like them, Jon Snow, but that book is not mine,” Dany said through her teeth. 

She was tired. 

“I came across it, dealt with the consequence of being momentarily stupid, and I made sure it was taken care of. It is no longer harmful.”

“The contents are,” he argued. “And you know it.”

Silence fell over them immediately, and it was heavy and dark as their eyes blazed in contempt.

“And what am I to do about that?” Dany arched her brow. “Keep it to myself? What happens when I pass on?” Dany probed, itching for the fight now.

She had been quiet in the temple. It was not her. The Dany that existed before she met him would have threatened the witch for speaking to her or about her advisors as she did. 

“Where do my belongings go? It’ll end up back in the world anyway–better it be where it originated than in the hands of a thief or worse… I don’t care about what happens now, I did the best I could.” Dany did not mean for her voice to crack but it did. She also knew that deep down, she probably would have still left the grimoire. She had just been clever this time.

Jon simpered down as her cheeks reddened.

She understood where he was coming from, but he was also being entirely unrealistic.

“I cannot save the world, Jon Snow,” she said quietly. “Get that out of your head. _I am not anyone’s savior_.”

Though Jon had gone quiet, his eyes were still hot with emotion. Dany could swear she saw disappointment flash through them again and it made her furious.

 _It is what you wanted, isn’t it?_ she mocked herself. 

Her and Jon glared at each other until they heard Harlen stumble over a footstool.

“Apologies,” he switched his gaze between the two of them. “You fight like me mate’s _mum_ and _da_.”

Dany was sure she looked horrified. 

Harlen’s eyes lowered as he cleared his throat, the boy said that if she wished to rest, he would be ready to stand guard for them. 

“It will be fine,” Jon sighed, shaking his head free of emotions. “I’ll stay up.”

“Sir,” Harlen said, halting Jon from looking for his weapons. “I mean not to offend but if you stay up any longer, you’ll start having visions, _sir_ … like delusions and fantasies. It happens after three or four days–”

They all stood quiet. 

Dany was not aware that Jon had not been sleeping. She supposed that was why _he_ had been feeling particularly irritable and argumentative.

Shifting on her feet, Dany picked her empty sack off the ground and nodded towards Harlen, “I’ll relieve you of your post in a few hours.”

“I am well, my lady, I-I slept while you were gone so I could watch over you both tonight.”

Dany bowed her head and found a spot on the stone ground to stare at. What if that boy had found out all that she had done? Would he be so inclined to be her guard? Dany thought not, at least not willingly.

“You need not watch over me,” Jon mumbled having the decency to look bashful. 

“Well, you helped me when you needn’t, so the least I could do is return the favor, sir.”

Dany could feel guilt spiraling within her. She straightened her back and gave one final nod.

She did not see Harlen smile or Jon’s mournful gaze follow her out of the chamber.

*

When Dany awoke at dawn, her head hurt.

It was bright outside, but the city was still dark. 

She wanted to leave.

It was not that she felt unsafe, but that she wished to get Jon back to Meereen. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was a man of his lands; he _should_ be in the north.

The words of the witch had given her nightmares. And in them, she could see him from atop her dragon in King's Landing, opposite of her, with his family behind him looking traitorous and scared.

In the dream, she had been hovering in the air with their eyes connected and it was as if she could feel her flesh burning from it. _He_ had not been scared. He looked calm, like the sky before a storm… and then he quirked his head before he retreated into the Red Keep.

Her stomach felt hollow as she put on her dressing gown and went to check on the boy.

Opening her door, she noticed his position on the floor reading a scroll that had been in one of her sacks… well, trying to at least.

“How is it coming along?” Dany questioned. 

“Sounds sinister,” Harlen remarked pensively and she forced a smiled.

He glanced up and Dany could see such youth in his eyes. He was so boyish, and although he’d killed and seen things a young boy shouldn’t, he had innocence in his eyes that made her feel… human and humble.

“Can’t really make out a lot of the words in the beginning but if I sound them out…”

“How is that you speak so many languages but can’t read or write much of it?” Dany slid down the wall next to him.

“Talking is easy, my lady–never had reason to read or write until Commander Daario and Ser Adaran took me in. And I can’t really learn with the children in town now, can I?”

 _He could_ , Dany thought and smiled. He was too good to be one of Daario’s men.

Patting his shoulder, Dany stood back up and excused herself to get dressed so they could go into town and purchase food to break their fast, but he called after her.

Turning to face the boy, she noticed he seemed confused. “I do not know if it will mean much my lady, but the woman of the establishment was gossiping about as soon as the sun came up; a dragon flew over the city a few nights ago...” Harlen paused. Dany’s heart began to flutter as she searched the boy’s gaze, feigning a discomfort that not one part of her body held at the news of Drogon.

“I think we should leave before something bad happens...”

She blinked. The sweet boy hadn’t a clue.

Nodding and pretending to smile to ease him, Dany went back into her chamber.

She searched for her tether as she slipped on her dress. 

It was dull again.

The searing had not appeared after that night, so her son had probably just gone home.

Disappointed, she sat at the small table in the corner and scrawled a message for Jon to let him know that they had stepped out.

 _Was she being too considerate?_ As she wrote the small note, she noticed that her anger was coming in bursts, and the betrayal she felt revealed itself in both her passivity and aggression. 

She could not get the sentiments to stay put. She _wanted_ to hate him. She wanted to despise him. She surely didn’t want to love him in her youth, and as she grew older, she understood how dangerous it was loving any man, let alone Jon Snow. So, she definitely _needed_ to hate him now… 

But he made it impossible. 

Dany sunk in her chair as she stared at the parchment. 

Jon Snow was infuriatingly stubborn and judgmental.

Jon Snow _tries_. 

She tried once and it was never enough for anyone but him. She understood how that felt and could not bring herself to ignore it.

The pain in at her temples worsened as she realized that Jon was finally sleeping and that was why Harlen was alone reading. 

She could not wake him, or he would not sleep again.

As Dany clutched her head, contemplating what to do, the tether burned.

_Drogon was near. They would be safe_

Standing abruptly, Dany folded the missive and pushed out of her room. She gently nudged Harlen who looked exhausted and told him to lead the way before she silently slipped the message under Jon’s door. 

 

Even though it was day, Asshai felt as eerie as twilight. The black stone made the market city dark and dim and the people felt like phantoms; all shadowy but distinct and dangerous.

Harlen breezed through the streets beside her as if the gloom was not mood dampening, and pointed to treats he felt she might enjoy. She made a stop to a stand that had hot peppers soaked in oil, and to a baker for bread for herself. 

Harlen guided her from merchant to merchant as she looked for something for Jon to eat because she knew that there was no way he was used to the spices, despite being in Essos for nearly a year.

They eventually stopped by a grill, and Harlen made quick work of getting a basket to relieve his hands as he asked for open fire flatbreads brushed with savory oils.

“Smell that, my lady! Isn’t that divine?” he grinned at her and winked at a young woman whose eyes were lined with kohl and whose hair was thick, red, and down to her waist in curls.

The rocks that she had forgotten to take from her pockets became heavy as the other woman smiled through her black sheer veil.

She reminded her of Ashlanna and Sansa Stark, so Dany glared. She started to pull Harlen away despite his protests while paying and collecting his food.

A fierce overprotectiveness assaulted her and before she could stop herself, she said, “She’ll be bad for you.”

“All women are bad for me,” Harlen pretended to be wounded. “You don’t even know her. She could be kind–”

Dany gave him a pointed stare.

“Judgmental,” he tsked and stepped toward a seafood merchant.

Dany stiffened, “I am not. She’d eat you alive.”

“Gods, I’d hope so!”

Dany playfully swatted at him, trying to cover the beginnings of a full grin. “You are too young–”

“I am a man grown,” he argued, pointing for a black fish with the sheer curiosity of a child. His eyes were bright and full of life still. 

Dany resisted the urge to push the brown hair from his face. He was probably a few years older than what her son could have been if he had lived.

Her heart ached as he looked at her, perplexed.

“Is everything alright, my lady?”

Dany gave a forced smile but cringed when he asked the merchant for the dark fish grilled and with a half a dozen small ones stewed in a red sauce he stated would be for “dipping.”

“Really?” she chastised with disgust, glancing around the markets wondering if she should just stop and get Jon grain with a mild goat.

“How many times in your life will you eat a black fish?” 

“Hopefully never,” Dany commented dryly before she inquired after Jon. She didn’t see anything she thought he would love so she began thinking of what to settle on that he would not hate to eat.

“Get him this,” he ignored her sarcasm and pointed to a normal looking piece of seafood. “He likes grilled–”

“And how do you know that?”

“I was assigned to watch him in Meereen,” he defended with a laugh.

“Does he know that?” Dany pointed for the fish Harlen suggested and waved her hand to stop them from crusting the meat with spices.

“I hope not… I mean, that is _also_ why I am near the whore houses so often… don’t think it’d please him.”

 _No, it wouldn’t_ , Dany thought. But Jon would not hate the boy.

“He is very reserved,” Harlen thought aloud. “And sad.”

“He only looks sad,” Dany said quickly although she knew it wasn’t all true, but Jon Snow would always look perpetually sad.

Harlen laughed. 

“You mentioned he was not sleeping,” Dany interrupted quickly as Harlen began placing his food inside the basket that he did not love. When they had bought it, she had tried to explain that there was craftsmanship to it but Harlen wasn’t trying to hear that.

The boy glanced at her nervously, “I– uh, yes, I did.”

“Why is that?”

“I do not know, my lady… he did not sleep near you while you were ill–I just don’t think he likes to sleep near you because he does not sleep well,” he said quietly with embarrassment at the idea of gossiping.

“What do you mean by ‘not well’?” Dany did not care for embarrassment. The boy had probably seen her lose her mind a few times over throughout the years _if_ he was around as much as he stated anyway.

“He is just unsteady. I suppose night terrors… and the women at the hovel get mad at him–”

Dany gritted her teeth. _He shouldn’t even be staying at an inn…_

She took the grilled fish from the merchant as Harlen continued, “But he does work to fix up the place… He makes friends easy.”

Of course Jon Snow did.

Dany rolled her eyes as Harlen paid.

“So, he has not slept much during the travels… he even patrolled with me for a bit last night before retiring.”

The boy led them toward the docks, only stopping once more for them to pick up some more items from a different baker. Harlen managed to convince her to buy a black cake and she was not pleased about it but he grinned all the way to the port.

Dany wanted a boat to themselves, not a bloody ferry where it would take them moons to get back to Meereen, and naturally, the man that they were addressing did not take kindly to being spoken to so explicitly by a woman.

Harlen got defensive when the man began baring his teeth, and in a deeper voice than what Dany was used to coming from him, the boy asked for a price. 

“No, look at me, not her,” Harlen spat in Valyrian. “Look at her like that again and I’ll break your hand–what is your fucking price?”

Dany side eyed her guard while the other man stayed quiet.

Harlen nodded, shrugged, grasped her arm, and pulled her away. 

Instinctually, she wanted to snatch it back but the boy's gaze looked cryptic. 

“Wait,” the man called in Asshai’i and then switched to Valyrian to say the number. 

Harlen stopped. His lips quirked as he winked at her before turning and nodding at the man, “I’ll pay you half the morning we leave–in two days’ time, and the other half when we dock at the Bay of Dragons.”

XIV

As if his body knew they were almost at their temporary residence, Harlen yawned loudly.

His entire character returned back to normal.

During the walk, she had stared at the boy and he was right. He was not a child; he was a man. He carried Jon’s short sword and she couldn't believe she had not noticed. She always looked for weapons.

Dany was underestimating her guard, she realized when he gave her an easy smile right before they spotted Jon leaning against the dark stone again.

His eyes were hazy as they moved from side to side, eyeing everyone that walked by him until he saw her.

Jon relaxed.

“Sir!” Harlen greeted.

“Essah,” Jon nodded, briefly glancing to Dany.

After acknowledging him, Dany floated past them to her chamber, hurrying Harlen in to divide the food so he could rest.

“I’ll just take these with me,” the boy held up his meal and nodded towards Jon’s room. “Is that fine, _uh_ , leaving you both here?”

Harlen looked between them.

Dany waited for Jon to respond and when she realized that he was staring at Harlen, she rolled her eyes, nodding. 

“Why wouldn’t it be? Run along,” Dany shooed.

“Very well, my lady,” Harlen ducked out sheepishly, as Dany sat with a huff.

“Is that fine, though?” Jon peaked out of the corner of his eye. “I can break my fast in the corridor–”

“Just sit down,” Dany muttered, finally dropping her facade. 

She was tired again.

“I am sorry for raising my voice at you–” Jon’s gruff voice filtered through the air. “I mean not when you spoke about my father, but the other times. I know we were just under stress and I came along with you on your mission–my opinion–I shouldn’t have… I should not have raised my voice.” He stumbled his way through an apology before he looked for a seat. 

His face was stone. 

He had been left alone in a strange city with nothing but his thoughts, probably thinking that he'd undone moons of... _progress_.

Dany could feel the storm of emotions he was fighting in his posture but said nothing.

He avoided her sharp eyes as he pulled a stool to the table that she had dragged to the center of the room to divvy up their provisions.

She did not want to be unkind, so she bit her lip and nodded, accepting his apology.

His brows pulled together.

“Do you wish to speak about our conversation?” Dany wondered if the inquiry sounded sarcastic. Dany also wondered if she wanted the inquiry to sound sarcastic.

She really did not wish to speak about the conversation.

“Don’t–Just please don’t bring him up again.” Jon sounded distressed. 

Dany’s head shot up curiously, "Your father?"

“Or his Lady wife… _I_ _can’t–_ I can’t think about them.”

As Dany slowly pulled out miscellaneous vials of oils from the basket, she began to feel bad, “Do you mind if I ask why?”

She now wondered if she was just being nosy or genuinely cared.

“Yes.”

“ _Will you tell me anyway?_ ”

Jon glanced away as she pushed what they had gotten for him to his side of the table.

She hated the Starks, but because his jaw twitched and his fist tightened, she needed to know.

He looked ready to flee but he still responded uncomfortably, “I don’t want to think about whether he would be disappointed in me.”

Looking down, Dany pretended that she was searching for something as he spoke so she could avoid the heavy sorrow in his eyes. 

She shouldn’t have probed. _Fuck_.

“I was pardoned from my sentence for,” Jon paused before quietening his voice, “ _killing you_ , because, _well_ , you are alive… I was asked to go back to Winterfell and I obviously denied for I am _here_.”

Dany, in theory, understood why he came here but his reasonings still puzzled her. But she also supposed her own insecurities muddled his explanation. 

“I don’t think he would have been proud of me seven years ago, nor now. So, I beg… please do not bring him up.”

Dany snapped her head back to him and it was odd. She thought he might be looking at her with the way he plead but he had not moved from his position of drawing circles on the dark wood with his good hand. She did not even think that Jon attempted eye contact with her once… 

 _He trusted that you deserved to hold his honor in your hands, and you broke it._ Guilt rendered Dany appetite-less, so she pushed the basket of warm bread towards him. _She shouldn’t have probed._

“I had a lot of time to think for seven years.” Jon began to take a small unenthusiastic bite of the food with his unhurt arm. “And I tried to recall happy memories… Naturally, I went to my childhood, but oddly, all of them seemed to be poisoned. And all I could remember was how alone and isolated I was–how much Lady Stark tried to exclude me, how much she spoke to me with disgust…” he confessed. “She wanted me gone.”

 _Just like her children,_ Dany wanted to say but kept her mouth shut tight. Distress was all over his body language. His eyes darted from her window, to her, to the food, to her, and then quickly to the door. 

He ran his hand through his hair before pushing it behind his ears and reaching for a piece of food. 

Jon methodically shoved things into his mouth… eating only like he required the sustenance to live. He had no desire for it, no interest in its taste. He looked like he was consuming to keep standing.

Tyrion Lannister had mentioned the Lady Stark once or twice, and how passionate of a mother the woman was… but that obviously did not extend far. She was a mother, only to her ugly children it seemed.

“Very well…” Dany blinked, swallowing back loose anger and shame. “Jon… seven years at the Wall… what did you think about and do if _nothing_ was happy?” She thought back to what Ashlanna said... His siblings would rather keep him at the place where his constant companion would be misery.

Dany had thought about Missandei whilst in Meereen... especially in the first few years. It eventually led to pain and guilt, but still, she could recall amusement. The memories were _good_. They were pure and nothing anyone could say could taint them nor take them away from her. Missandei was _good_. Her time with Missandei had been _good_.

“I had Ghost, Tormund, Davos, and Gendry. I don’t remember much all the time… I was a bit in my cups.” 

Dany halted from absently tearing her bread apart, “Is that why you don’t drink wine?”

They had a few flagons of it on the road that Jon opted to never touch.

“Well, I prefer ale, but, for the most part… _aye_. I need to be a bit more alert. I'm not in the north anymore,” he smiled up at her. It was sad but there was some relief in his eyes. “Everything comes to me in waves. I mostly remember what people told me I was like.”

“And what did people tell you were like?” The questions tumbled out of her before she could stop it.

Seeming uninterested was safe, but Dany only had clips of their brief meetings to sort him out, and he was a puzzle. Jon Snow used to be an open book, full of sorrow and defeat… a bit bruised around the edges but there had been hope.

Now hope only appeared in his eyes when she smiled.

“A ghost,” he let out a miserable laugh, poking at the fish Dany shoved toward him. 

If he did not like it, she would ring Harlen’s neck.

“Mostly kind… sad– and wandering hopelessly. _Pathetic,_ _really_ …” Jon stopped when he noticed her lips tugging further down. 

“Did you think I was happy?” he asked incredulously.

Dany shrugged.

She did not know what to think _sometimes_.

Happiness was something she was certain Jon Snow could find if he let himself. Because she always figured that he did what needed to be done, or what he felt was best, she supposed that he could take solace in that.

“I had nothing left. _Not really_. I needed hope and you can't really find much of that in the bleak mid-winter.”

They stared at each other, silently assessing each other’s damage. 

She would not say a thing because she had nothing she could say.

She did not feel sorry for his pain. What he did was his decision. What Dany did feel sorry was his childhood and family. Dany knew what it was to grow up feeling less than and being abused. And wishing to measure up to something–being better than what people expect of you. She got it. More than anything she understood him. 

“You should eat, you are only getting skinnier–you’re goin’ to be nothin’ but bone,” Jon pointed at her plate, nervous that, perhaps, he had spoken too much. “Do you need me to try it? Is that it?” He reached for her dish.

“You can’t handle it,” Dany pulled her plate back before Jon’s bread could swipe at it.

He raised a brow, as if his previous sentiments were unaffecting.

“Give it here now,” Jon motioned for it.

“I don’t wish to be responsible for another healer visit when your shit burns your arse for moons,” Dany sniffed.

Jon paused, and then chuckled despite himself, “Nice to know your mouth has only grown filthier.”

He'd inadvertently loosened the tension in the air.

Dany could not help but smile.

Jon lifted his head, his expression _hopeful_.

A nagging part of her said crush it. He would soon be disappointed again, but she could not bring herself to take the teasing glint from his eyes.

“You can try the cake, how about that?” she offered haughtily. 

“What cake?”

“That cake,” Dany jutted her chin to the basket.

Jon gave her a look that made her raise her hand to her mouth to stop a giggle.

“Cakes should not be black, Dany,” Jon stilled, lifting it from the box. “Is it–like– _chocolate_?”

“Probably not,” Dany pursed her lips, reaching over the table to grab it from him.

Their hands bumped together, and Jon froze. But Dany just sat back and kicked her foot up onto a stool and popped a crumble into her mouth. 

Just like the short sword Harlen carried, Dany did not notice Jon’s touch either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy y'all don't care about my mood boards bc this one is a mess... will probs change later. But I am so tired. I told twitter I was going to sleep but I felt guilty bc I said this would be today so–
> 
> hope this chapter sticks because I'm quite delirious right now. I literally don't know what's going on ahaha. I have drunk two red bulls and 16oz of coffee in the last 40 hours so yep. 
> 
> This story took such a hard left plotwise just to get the characters into a realistic mindset, which is tbh impossible, but we try. So, I am so off fucking schedule and trying very hard to get Alice ahead but between trying to keep up with Howl's 13k and this 4-8k, plus rewrites, job hunting, etc, I'm afraid I have officially flown off my rocker. Like seriously. I think I've had three mental breakdowns today because I've been writing for 8+hrs and gotten NOWHERE.
> 
> thank you for loving my crackhead notes. love that for me. I was going to ask y'all about GOT characters' astrological signs but I'll leave that for the next update. love you guys very much. can't wait for our baby to be here-gonna get us there eventually. maybe not today or tmr, or this month, but it will come. and if it doesn't, I'll find the nearest ledge. 
> 
> please leave me a kind review and support my emotional well being... i really need it this weekend bc yeah, just send help, ily <3


	10. The Seal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello 2020 and Sorry!
> 
> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza.

**C.10**

_**The Seal : Part 1 of 2** _

Jon's POV

XV

Dany meant what she said. She did not wish to stop at all the ports, so she got a boat and a captain. 

They only stayed in Asshai for a few days and they were better than the weeks on the road. 

She said she hated the red city but when she dragged him and Harlen to the markets, she looked like she liked it well enough. At least, until he and Harlen got looked at a certain way. Jon wasn’t sure if it was women in general, women that eyed her wrong, or women in Asshai that made a violent fire brim in her eyes. _No_ , she did not like Melila either.

When Mikloz’s mother questioned if they were courting, Jon _almost_ laughed. _“Aren’t I too old to be courting?”_

_“And how old is that, boy?” he scowled… to which Melila laughed._

_“Eight and twenty years,” Jon sniffed._

_“You are a babe,” she chortled before catching him ready to return the question. “Don’t you dare, child.”_

_She did not help dull his curiosity about her age. She did not look old, just older than him._

_“We age well in the East,” Melila nodded, adding more vegetables to her pile as she tsked, “Bet you that cold will make your skin dry and crack about.”_

_“And the sun–”_

_“Gives life to these crops,” Melila did a little waggle. “He smiles yet…”_

_Jon pursed his lips to hide his amusement._

_“Why is it that you are so sad, Jon Snow? Is it that woman you fancy?”_

_Blinking, Jon tried not to glance back to the pyramids, but failed. “Sometimes.”_

_“You be careful now,” Melila started stripping a corn bare in time for Mikloz to take it to a fire after studies._

_“Why is that?” Paranoia prickled his skin. Jon wondered if Dany was feared here as well and he’d been reading everything wrong._

_“She is very special to Ser Daario–”_

**_Oh_** _. Jon pressed his lips together to stop them from curling at the mention of_ _Naharis_ _. He had no right to be upset. “Your son said the same thing.”_

_“I wish that boy would stop running his mouth.”_

_“And when you say special…”_

_“I thought that was his woman or mistress at least. She is very protected in this city–especially recently.”_

_Jon nodded solemnly._

_“But I take it I am wrong… or right?” Melila actually looked curious and that was a rarity. She hated to be asked questions and hated to answer them even more._

_After Jon had gotten back on her good side and informed her that the men were watching the city, he stayed with her until sundown so she would feel safe and stop glaring at him._

_“And how do you know that,” she had asked then._

_“I am, unfortunately, a man of war,” Jon clipped. “I know ill will very well–distrust and dishonesty have been my most loyal companion.”_

It was funny how Melila had said she understood then that he was trying to run away, when Jon had always thought he was running _to_ something. 

Dany was his biggest regret. 

He had said he loved her, but what had he done to show her? To prove it? _Nothing_. And over the years, it felt personal the way she had switched. Like he’d known her, he’d believed in her, and it was as if she had a point to prove.

But the more he stayed around her now, Jon knew she’d just snapped. 

He was not sure what frightened him most. And he’d also grown unsure of what he would have done if it’d been one of his sisters up on a ledge–dying because of him. He remembered Rickon and charging into battle, what that felt like. He wondered if he’d have rained fire on everyone. 

Jon also let himself fester in what it would have felt like in the moment; the satisfaction in that people had to suffer as he did… 

When Jon felt these thoughts begin to spiral out of his hold, he liked to be alone or at least leave her presence to clear his head. But he could not go anywhere in the city without feeling disturbed and watched. 

The only bright side was that nobody should have known who he was, except Dany, so he got to roam the market like he could have, perhaps, been her suitor.

_“Pardon,” Dany slipped through the crowd to a fabric merchant._

_“Ser Vhassolis had said to me that she spends the most in Asshai,” Harlen commented as they picked up pace to keep up with Dany._

_“Does she usually spend a lot of coin?” Jon asked curiously, toeing around a basket of buttons at the front of a tent._

_“On herself? Sometimes, apparently. She loves pretty things and lemon cakes… but she spends more on funding cities.”_

_Jon furrowed his brows._

_“A few years ago, I was tasked with finding out why the orphanages were in ruins because I was, well, an orphan… so I–it was personal,” Harlen continued, diverting eye contact._

_Jon feigned nonchalance but elbowed him in understanding._

_“As soon as I found out water was needed for its public baths and that the building needed to be cleaned and refinished, the council mended the_ latter, and she took care of the former.”

_“How do you know that?”_

_“I heard her, Ser Daario, and Ser Vhassolis arguing about it,” the boy looked sheepish._

_“Which color?” Dany called from further into a tent._

_He and Harlen looked at each other wondering who she was asking._

_“Hello,” her voice rang again when they didn’t move._

_The boy had been the first one to reach her._

_“They are both red, my lady,” Harlen stuttered out, glancing between the frock that was more cherry colored and the gown that was the shade of wine._

_“That one,” Jon pointed to the deeper dress._

_“I should have known you’d go with the more expensive conservative one,” Dany mused sadly._

_Jon raised his hand in question as she huffed._

_“You care about the fabric, how much of it, and its texture,” Dany glowered at the garments._

_“Is that so terrible?” Jon asked, mildly offended._

_“No,” she scowled harder._

_“You look like you’d have more fun with that one,” Jon pointed to the lighter dress, letting her know that he caught her looking at it adoringly. “Shouldn’t the other one be more expensive than this one?” he stepped closer to the cherry red one, but not fast enough for Harlen to nudge and shush him._

_The boy_ _jutted_ _his head toward the merchant trying to listen in. “She’ll raise the price, sir.”_

_Jon shrugged innocently before returning to Dany, “This one will look better on your skin with your hair normal like this. I mean, they’d all look lovely on you but this one–”_

_“My hair isn’t supposed to be normal,” Dany cut in harshly, and he looked down. He knew she didn’t like to leave without it being colored blue for safety precautions. “But I suppose you’re right,” she amended, softening. “This one makes me look like I could seduce men for a living.”_

_Jon gave a weak laugh, knowing that the dress wouldn’t make a difference. She could be wearing a sack… she didn’t need the dress to do that._

_“And this is the one where you’d make a living from seducing men in it,” Harlen grabbed the cherry one, holding it up to show that it was sheer._

_Jon hated it… but she would look like art. The dress was nothing but decoration._

He wanted to give her all the things he knew he could have if they were not Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow.

Jon knew she felt, and he did not wish to fight… but she could be so unflinching, insufferable, and cold. 

He knew her. _He knew her._ And he hated that she lied about caring. 

She would not do things like wait until everyone was seated to sup if she did not care… 

Or talk to the horses. 

Or make sure everyone had warm bath water despite their protests.

Or divide the workload of traveling, fairly, even though she was the only woman. 

Those were just not things done by people who were indifferent.

There was darkness within her. And it scared him because he was familiar with it; it was the same thing he saw in himself… the glint of trauma in her eyes, the hesitation in her steps, the cruelness on the tip of her tongue… 

He never wanted that for her– _to be like him._

His nightmares were getting worse.

The better he felt around her, the more his mind became hazy and antagonistic.

It was becoming harder for him to feign aloofness. Every time she told him that she was not good or tried to show him that she was hopeless, the depths of his brain would agree, spilling images of her soaked in blood into his head while he rested. 

Cities were aflame in other dreams. And the look on her face when she found out that he was her brother's son settled at the forefront of his head merging with her current expression of vexation. 

Jon was unable to sleep properly, even now, nor trust his own mind it seemed.

_She was not that._

Just like he was not only the people he’d murdered.

They were more.

 _They had to be…_ It’s what he told himself to keep the void from returning. He fought it, harder than he’d ever fought anything in a long time.

Jon had felt it winning on the journey to Asshai. 

They quarreled too much. 

He remembered that they used to argue before… but it served as a way for her to push him on his back and mount him to forget the weight of war. 

 _Now_ they were malicious and hostile. There was no backing her against a wall, pulling down her skirts, and ripping her corset with an angry glower or a twitch of his lips. There was no twinkle in her eyes as she cursed him. 

She wished for him to hurt now. 

 _And_ he wanted her to know that she was just as chaotic as he was.

He _knew_ her.

Every time she’d tell him to go back home, or that she wasn’t a hero, a part of his memory would collapse into itself, sinking slowly into the empty abyss he tried to stow away. He’d see scarlet blood oozing from his hands and hear Ghost’s faint howl in his ears before the screams of civilians crippled his sanity. 

At night, he’d ask himself why he was even there. What would this do for him? What did he expect from her? What would he being in Essos prove?–What would he being here do for her? 

_Besides get her killed?_

Every day he told himself that his family would not be so stupid to send cutthroats… but the men… they were familiar. The blank aloofness that they faked… Jon knew was _familiar_. 

Their belongings did not have sigils as far as he saw so they were spies or assassins. They did not seem like they wanted to harm him, but they certainly had ill intentions.

 _They could be from any lord in Westeros looking to make coin,_ he tried to convince himself as he stared at the metal ring. There were no gems and it was not of a valuable material but there was a design on it.

Jon couldn’t recognize it as any of the houses he’d grown up learning about. 

At first, he thought it was one of those pieces of jewelry that held a powdered poison and tried to open it–to no avail.

“What is that?”

Jon jumped, glancing in the direction of Dany’s voice. She was standing in the doorway, looking confused, and a little disheveled with her silver curls tossed to the side.

“A ring…”

“You found it on the men, correct?” _Oh._ She noticed. He had not told her about it because he could not figure out what it was, but it meant something… that much knew.

“Aye. Do you want it?” _Please say no._ He wanted to keep it. It bothered him. 

She shook her head.

 _Thank the old gods._ Jon did not show his relief though.

“Is something the matter?” he feigned nonchalance.

They had been at sea for a few days and she usually only came in to see him when he disappeared to be miserable for hours alone in his dark room after he’d snap at Harlen on accident.

“Oh,” she paused, staring at him.

He was in his nightclothes with his tunic peeking open.

“I–um–supper will be brought down to you. I’ll have a servant bring you some water for you to wash up,” Dany blinked as Jon shifted under her gaze at his scars. 

When she turned her back to him, he called for her before he could stop himself.

She glanced back.

Jon wished to eat with her again, but he did not say that. 

“I hope you enjoy your meal,” he gave a slight smile as they both drowned in pride.

 

By the second week, Jon was looking for any reason to speak with her. 

Usually, she was on the upper deck with Harlen, letting the boy chase away the calmness of the sea, while he glared at the stupid ring in his cabin. 

The more time he spent alone, the angrier he got because he felt like he was suffocating. He hated the heat and the ship, and he missed the fucking snow and Ghost. 

Jon was miserable.

They were on opposite ends of the ship; she to the back and him towards the front so he could always hear what was happening. In the morning, as the boat rocked away his nightmares, he swore he could still feel her beside him though… stroking his hair, showing him that she could plait it because it was long… he could even smell her–warm like fire and sweet like honey. 

She had tasted like it too.

Jon remembered that as well. And it was hard seeing her and trying to hide that he wanted her. He felt that it was inappropriate and that he should hardly be looking at her.

“Have you been taking care of your arm?" Dany’s eyes were soft as she tiptoed into his cabin. She was wearing the cherry red frock that Harlen hated. And Jon hated that she wore it aboard a ship with a crew made up of mostly men. But it wasn’t any of his business, he supposed.

Jon glanced away and hesitated. She’d told him not to fuss with anything, but the healer did leave him balms and elixirs. He just never touched it because she seemed weary and only grew more anxious the longer they stayed in the city.

He pondered seeking Melila out, when they got back to Meereen, to help him with his shoulder but as Dany’s eyebrows furrowed, he recognized that might not be wise. 

She’d told him to be mindful, but his caution displeased her. _Of course she could not make one thing simple for me to understand_ , Jon thought bitterly. 

“I will take that as a no,” she guessed, shutting the cabin door.

Jon’s heart rate increased as he watched her waltz further into his chamber, past his wardrobe, which was nearly empty, and to the table beside a trunk of items they acquired in Meereen. 

She found a vial of liquid the healer recommended putting on his shoulder for about a moon.

“There is to be a light storm,” Dany continued before walking toward him. 

Jon’s chest began to burn. 

“The captain thinks we can make it through… but he gave us the option to port at Yin.” She dragged a chair to his side and pointed for him to stand up.

“What is it that you want to do?” he swallowed as she pushed at his back, motioning for him to sit in the chair.

Jon had almost flinched when she placed a hand on him. It was too unfamiliar for them now, but he made sure he didn’t shy away so he could feel it again.

“I think I need to get you back to Meereen,” she disclosed, entering his space, smelling like melted sugar and fire, and everything he did not wish to see exit his cabin.

He was beginning to think he was touch-deprived. He’d had Tormund, Ghost, and the Free Folk… and the Free Folk were handsy–way more than necessary as well, but he realized that he missed the imposition.

“What is it you want?” Jon repeated as he took his seat.

“Take off your shirt?”

“What?” he blinked, squinting to see if he heard her correctly.

Dany rolled her eyes and lifted her hand to her head, scratching at her scalp, “You’re supposed to put this on, and you haven’t,” she frowned.

“Do you trust it?” Jon scowled at the liquid after regaining some of his composure.

“I don’t trust anything, Jon Snow,” she sighed, sitting on his bed.

“Would you use it?” The substance was clear and thick like an oil, but oils usually smelled better than that.

“For the last seven years, Daario was scared I’ll take my life–I’m hardly the person for a question like that,” she uncorked the thing, took a sniff, and poured it on to her hands, massaging it between her fingers. “I don’t care.”

Jon gritted his teeth and bit, “But you’re scared of poison?” 

His voice was harsher than necessary, but she was lying to him again.

“If I die by eating, I’ll be cross,” she stated with a pointed look, still rubbing the liquid in her hands. “ _Take off your shirt._ ”

He stared at her while she waited for him to move but Jon was frozen under her gaze. He could not tell the fire burning in her eyes was born from irritation and impatience. 

“You don’t want me to touch you? Is that it?”

“Yes–no.”

Dany stood, nodded, and closed the bottle. 

“I mean _no_.” He wanted her to touch him. Maybe if she did then she’d understand that he was not all poison, blood, and death. But he only wanted her to lay a hand on him if she was comfortable doing so. “That’s not it,” he amended. He didn’t need to be coddled.

“I am more concerned about _you_ –touching me.” And no matter how he said it, he grew frustrated because he could not get what was in his head to come from his mouth.

“I can get Harlen if you'd prefer him to rub you up. I’m sure he’d enjoy that.”

She had started to walk away when he grabbed her arm.

Her eyes fell to his grasp and he quickly let go with a whispered apology.

“I mean, um–” Jon sighed, swallowing back the shock on her face. “Are you fine with touching me? You don’t have to–I can figure it out.”

He had another hand.

“I’ll get over it,” she replied defiantly. 

Jon let his head fall with a bitter smile encroaching his lips. Obstinacy was in her bones. It was in her blood. And it coated her skin and tongue.

She never took no as an answer and if he told her not to do something, it always made her wish to do it more. 

_She will always be stubborn._

Jon could have laughed when he raised his head to meet her gaze once more. She had unconquerable eyes.

“Will you?” His voice was equal parts wistful and defeated.

Her jaw clenched as she let the vial fall into his lap. 

Her hands made quick work at the tie of his tunic.

Jon let her undress him. He would not tell her to stop. 

He accommodated her and raised his right arm, allowing her to slip the clothing off.

Forcing himself to breathe under her glare, he let his eyes fall to her toes where he traveled the leather sandals that crossed their way up to her thighs. When the cool oil hit his skin and her warm hands fell upon him, he sucked in harsh breath and let his gaze fixate at the location of her scar.

“Tell me if I am being too harsh,” she spoke as her palms massaged in circles over his shoulder.

“ _You are being too harsh_ ,” he said. 

She knew what Jon meant.

He heard her swallow and felt her pressure lift but she did not stop. Her hands continued soft strokes down his back, and when she sucked in a breath, he knew that the bruising that had formed was bad. It had been a light purple, but Jon supposed it might be turning various shades of awful by now the way his body was stiff. There had been some scrapes, as well, that would leave a mark… but what was one more?

 

 _“It’s only fair, Jon Snow,”_ she had yelled at him when he was feeling particularly irate one evening. She had come into his chamber every time he washed to put the liquid on him, and it was slowly becoming his favorite part about taking the journey until she said, _“You took care of me when I was ill.”_

Jon did not want her pity. 

If she felt indebted, she could just leave him be.

He had just washed up hours ago and sat at his table staring at the medicine and the ring. 

She was not going to come. 

Jon decided then that the ring was ugly and that he hated it. He considered throwing it out a porthole until he respired, got up, and went to his bed.

He would have awful night terrors, he thought, for his sanity was waning again. 

“Sir–sir!” his door slammed open.

Jon jumped to his feet, ready to reach for his weapons belt until he realized that the boy looked cheery.

“Essah, what is the matter?”

“Come up with me,” the boy urged.

Jon gritted his teeth and frowned, “Why?”

Harlen rolled his eyes, “Just come up.”

The boy’s back was against the door, leaning… waiting for him to put on his boots.

“Where is–” 

Harlen pointed up. 

With a clenched jaw, Jon listened to the boy’s orders and followed him above deck to where Dany stood–leaning against the railing of the ship.

“It’s sunset,” the guard motioned to the clear view of the orange sky. 

Jon blinked. He knew what a sunset was and what it looked like.

The boy could not be serious.

Dany’s body shook with a peal of laughter that caught his attention.

Jon was confused. 

“Here’s sweet bread,” Harlen said with a mouthful and a hand open to him. “Look.”

Jon took the food from the boy absent-mindedly and followed him to a position next to Dany.

He wanted to say something to her, but his pride forbade him. Instead, he glowered at the boy, “What am I looking at?”

“You mentioned you don’t do boats often,” Harlen lifted his finger, motioning to the sky. “Here is why they are amazing?”

Jon looked forward again and only saw the yellow hues diminishing and being replaced by a faint blue. 

“What am I looking at?” Jon repeated indignantly.

Dany snorted.

He shot a glare to her that she would not notice because she was not acknowledging him.

“It’s a good night, I know it,” Harlen nodded, ignoring them. “Just be patient and watch.”

Sighing, Jon humored him. “And how do you know that?” 

“Because,” the boy continued, “Milady said she feels it to be a good night.” 

Harlen grabbed her shoulder fondly and Jon wanted to fight if he was honest. Dany only stiffened a little bit and Jon could not help but think if that had been him, she would have happily jumped off the ship. 

“ _And_ if she feels that, it has to be.” Harlen’s excitement seemed to be contagious because Dany released a gentle smile for the boy.

Shyly, she glanced to Jon right before Harlen popped up, “Okay, it is coming!”

“What’s coming?” Jon probed once more but the boy leaned anticipatingly over the edge.

“Look!”

The sky flashed green as Jon stared at Dany. He only saw it from his peripheral as he watched her expression widen and lips tug into a toothy smile.

“Isn’t that beautiful, sir?”

“Yes, Harlen,” he responded immediately, realizing that he had not seen what the boy wished for him to see. 

By the time Jon glanced back, Harlen was frowning at him.

Jon almost felt bad, but Dany was the one who had a smirk on her face that she failed to hide. So really, she was the one who should be guilty for taking amusement from the boy’s frustration.

“Did you even look?”

“Yes, Harlen,” Jon dismissed.

“Are you lying?”

“Yes, Harlen,” he sighed. 

Dany let out a huff of laughter.

Jon almost smiled at her but Harlen’s frown turned into a glare.

“I got distracted,” he admitted

“Oh c’mon!” Harlen whined. “This rarely happens! They say–” and then the boy went off on a tale as Jon played with the ring around his finger while staring at Dany indulging her guard.

Although she did not seem as cross with him as he had originally thought, he could still tell he made her upset. He wasn’t sorry though. He didn’t want her pity.

And despite this evening being a better night than his previous ones, when Jon eventually retired, he still could not sleep… so he stared at the ring further.

He’d sat with the thing for two weeks now and something finally occurred to him while he stared at parchment, quill, and ink, finding words to write another letter to Tormund.

Knitting his brows together, Jon reached over to the crimson candle and dribbled wax on to the sheet of paper. He slipped the ring off and pressed it into the molten substance.

The design that faced him held three eyes.

_Three-eyed raven._

“What is it that you are doing?” Dany knocked into his chamber.

Jon jumped a bit, crumbling the candle wax before responding, “Ah, I-I- playing with candles.”

“Why?”

He hated himself. He felt a cold rush of disappointment as he avoided the question, “You know, when I was little, I always wanted to have a wax seal,” Jon blinked trying to dispel the frustration burning in his nose. “I did not have anyone to send it to, but I still wanted it.”

 _You are an idiot_ , he mentally scolded himself. Why did he always believe the worst about everyone that was not his family? Why did this shock him?

Disappointment sliced through him before the stream of hot red anger. His vision was blurring, and he could feel that he was losing himself to the void.

“Jon?”

He hummed a response mindlessly.

She was coming closer, but he wanted to yell at her to stay back, but his words failed him.

“What is going on in your head right now?” Her brows were furrowed as she slipped off Harlen’s cloak and placed it on the bed, before she climbed it.

 _You really did not wish for me to answer that_ , he thought grimly and drained. 

So many questions were racing through his mind like why his little brother would be sending spies if he was the seer of all things, and if they were assassins–was Bran a fucking idiot?

He must have looked like a sight because she called his name again.

“ _Imagine_ sealing a message with falling snow.” Jon _Snow_. 

His voice was rough and haggard.

“That wouldn’t look nice, it wouldn’t look much like anything,” he slipped the ring back on his finger, nervously turning it as she frowned. “And that was how I felt.”

Jon turned away.

She looked pretty. She always looked pretty. But her hair was a bit past her shoulders now, and completely back to her silverish white. But it was curly… curlier than he remembered.

He wondered if the waves she used to wake with were as they were because of the braids she no longer adorned, and if the reason why her curls seemed so springy was because the salted air added more texture to it.

Jon wished she would talk more, now, _like she used to,_ but she was waiting for him to continue.

“I looked at my brothers and sisters, and they would always be able to sign anything with a wolf and everyone would know how important the contents of the missive were–how important _they_ were.” 

Jon remembered Rob’s name day celebrations and how he got to seal thank you letters. Jon remembered how Sansa used to practice her cursive, pretending to write love letters to a noble knight, and cresting it with grey wax and wolf. 

“Everyone would always know who they were.” There was no privacy or secrecy.

_No secrecy._

Jon supposed his brother would need to know whether the information sent was from people he trusted. Not everyone truly understood what a three-eyed raven was, and probably understood that even less. It looked odd and sealers were usually a heavy iron stamp. If his brother had not been his own family, he might not have grasped the imagery on the jewelry either. 

“Is that why you sign your missives with JS now?”

“Aye. Anyone and no one at the same time would know who I am.”

“Technically you should be using a three-headed dragon.” 

Jon’s snapped his head up. Her eyes were stubborn, and her cheeks were an even more stubborn pink that matched her wine-colored gown. He had been right. It suited her well.

His eyes fell to the fabric of her dress and the intricate design seemed to cage her body in. She was still every inch a queen that radiated regality and demanded respect.

“No, the last dragon was murdered on the floors of the red keep.” Jon had been waiting for her to bring up his parentage if he was honest. Because he would not have. “It wouldn’t feel right–I don't feel like a Targaryen… I wasn't raised by or as one.”

Jon stared at the floor, too nervous to read her expression. 

“Doesn’t make you any less one,” she mumbled softly.

Jon glanced up to see her playing with the hems of her sleeves. 

“You weren’t raised as a Stark–only by one. Do you still feel like one?” Dany’s head tipped to the side with an arch of her brow.

Giving a bitter smile, Jon uttered, “Never Stark enough to be granted the respect growing up, but just Stark enough to hold the weight and take on the perils and responsibility…”

She still treated him with more respect, honesty, and familiarity than his entire family did.

“No matter who I was born, and who I was raised by, prince or bastard, Stark or Targaryen, to me, _now_ , I’ll always be Jon Snow.” He wished he’d realized it before he pushed her away.

“Thank you,” he added, making her glance up too. 

 _You should go back to Westeros,_ he told himself.

“For what?”

“I know you’d rather have taken the horses.” She had been vehemently against getting on a ship.

“It is fine,” Dany brushed off.

“You could have stuck me on a boat and went on your way. I really appreciate it–you not leaving me…” _Alone_.

Unlike him, _apparently_ , she understood certain pains and tried not to do what had been done to her to others. 

“I–” Dany froze, her eyes falling into her lap. “It is no problem. Couldn’t put you on a ship with whores and witches so they can take advantage of your pretty face,” she attempted to quip and lighten the tension, but it was ineffective.

The intricacies in their dynamic were hidden at best and he was feeling raw.

After a few moments, a huff, a quick bitter laugh, and a tilt of his head. Jon stared at her wondering if he heard her right.

“You still think I’m pretty?” Jon had no idea what she saw when she looked at him sometimes. There was betrayal for sure… annoyance was a given, recently pity, when he first came to her–fear, and now, he thought perhaps something else flickered between them. But he could not be certain. It could all just be his mind playing cruel games on him.

“ _They_ would think your comely…” she attempted to back away and stand, flustered.

She was never flustered.

Jon narrowed his eyes curiously, glancing her up and down as she shifted uncomfortably.

“That wasn’t what you said,” he pressed on.

“Goodnight, Jon Snow,” she smoothed her gown down, her expression looking a bit ruffled. Jon decided to leave her be before he aggravated her to a point where she would not return to him again.

He pursed his lips and nodded, not catching the look of worry and longing she tossed back for his gaze was once again to the ring.

 

By the third week on the boat, they started taking their suppers together with Harlen.

The boy was a man, but he radiated youth that Jon did not have at the same age. He could talk for ages and was quick to get defensive. He reminded Jon of Arya when she was little; loud, sweet, and chaotic. 

Everywhere the other man went, Jon could hear him, whether it was his feet against the wood of the boat or the base in his voice when Dany got upset with something and the boy got into someone's face. If he practiced a bit more stealth and perhaps developed a bit more restraint, Jon could see him as a good guard for her.

“I feel like I am on a holiday,” Harlen commented, stretching from beside his seat. “I am never able to rest this early in the day, it is quite exciting,”

The sun was about to set and of course the boy had been correct. Jon had been above deck every evening and the green light that was spoken about did not happen again.

He wasn’t upset that he did not see it, but it hurt Harlen’s feelings that he had not been paying attention especially after he went below deck to retrieve him, so Jon made extra effort to entertain him.

“That is how you know you’re gettin’ old,” Jon mused as the boy deadpanned.

“Stop it,” Harlen frowned. 

Jon’s lips quirked at the disgruntled boy as the kid bid a good evening. 

It was just him and Dany now.

He wished he could lie and say that tension did not thrum between them, but he swore he could hear her jaw clenching in sync with the crash of the waves.

She was playing with her food, gently flicking grain to his plate in a quiet retaliation for him tossing small chunks of bread as she scowled her way through Harlen’s grand tale of explaining some older woman from the eastern side of the marketplace he fancied.

“You make me feel like a child–when I am near you,” she glared at her plate.

Her not talking all evening was a usual occurrence according to Harlen. Dany was quiet most of the time from what the boy told him. 

Dany was never quiet. She used to be able to talk of ages about nothing and everything at the same time, only becoming unamused when her intelligence was insulted or when she did not get something she wanted. 

 _She speaks to you though,_ his mind emphasized. Jon had wondered how quiet he was for her to feel it was necessary to pull herself from silence.

“That is _definitely_ not my intention,” Jon drawled leaning back as rice fell into the cup of sweet wine that he would not drink.

They were not children. She was certainly not a child. Jon had known the outline of her body well; the dips and curves, the swell of her breasts and behind, and the thickness of her hips and thighs. 

He wondered what made women feel womanly because Jon was certain he could worship her body and she’d still hold the former sentiments.

“I am confused. I second guess everything–I feel confused.” _Oh_. Jon blinked.

He should leave to his rooms and scold himself.

“Why do you exist Jon Snow?”

He snorted and shook his head.

_His existential dilemma._

“Because your brother and my father’s sister thought their love should exist further than them.” It was the best he could come up with.

He was brought back to life for what? He was not some prince that was promised. 

He supposed he was a prince… but that meant very little now.

“And how do you feel about that?”

Jon knew that she was bringing it up to scare him off… or to see if he would grow more uncomfortable and leave. She had a sneer of challenge on her face, testing him.

“I don’t,” he shrugged, reaching for a glass of water. “I don’t know them. I never did. I never will.” It was all he ever wanted once, and it didn’t matter. _How ironic,_ he mused sardonically. Sam and Bran had tainted what was supposed to be a meaningful moment for him. His family and friends had used the information he’d yearned his entire life to know against the woman he loved… against him. 

They would never understand. They were all privileged except Gendry and Davos–who had uncoincidentally kept quiet when they found out. His best mate and family had and have never understood what it was like to grow up as he did and how special it was supposed to be to know his mother’s identity.

He had been loved and _wanted_. He had been wanted. And they never saw that. They never understood that his mother died giving him life. That if she could, she would have loved and raised him, and he would not have been glowered at by Lady Catelyn at every waking turn, or whispered about every day behind his back. They only saw power, a throne, and the tale of Rhaegar and Lyanna. Not orphaned Jon Snow.  

“My identity is what I have made it to be, Dany. Not what anybody will tell me. Not who my parents are,” he’d concluded.

“I wish you would have come to the conclusion seven years ago.”

“I did.” She had only seen the crown as well.

“You still turned me away…” 

He guessed he needed time he never had.

“Regrets that will last a lifetime…” He hoped that one day she would understand that his entire being was not meant to be a malicious act to spite her. He never wanted that.

Jon sighed. 

“May I tell you something?” he glanced at her. Her eyes were shining but he knew she would never let tears fall for him. “May I _show_ you something?”

She nodded solemnly, stiff and… afraid?

Jon pressed his lips together as grief began to ebb at his being.

He took the candle from the middle of the wood table and dribbled wax onto a map that he and Harlen had been arguing about. Jon pulled the ring off his finger and pressed into it and slid it over for her to see.

Sitting back, he watched her eyes draw together before comprehension fell upon her.

“Why did you–” Her voice was sad.

“I’m tired of regrets,” Jon placed the ring on the table, letting the heavy metal clatter and sound off the wall before he passed it to her.

“What do you expect me to think?”

“Everything you already know,” he shrugged. 

She was not an idiot and he had just been denial.

“And what is it that you want me to say or do?”

“Walk out of this room,” he admitted with a sad smile. “It is your turn now.”

“Why are you doing this?” she bit. Her face laced with anger, and with the way her eyes darted from the map to the ring and to him and then back to the ring, he knew behind her obstinacy, she was confused.

“Because when we get off this ship in four days' time, I have no idea what will await _us_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the mistakes if you catch them. Those are always my fault. Next chapter should be up in 14 days.
> 
> Yeah. This hiatus should not happen again. I am currently revising chapter 23 this week so I'm putting me and my beta ahead. She has the next chapter and by the time this goes up, I should be sending her the two after that. 
> 
> Howl is still in construction. I want to be midway through my war chapters before I update and I had to do a lot of research.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It took me forever to write lmfao
> 
> If you are still reading, pretty please leave a comment... even if it is just a "<3" or an emoji. I would love to know who is still around. It helps my publishing anxiety. Please and thank you.
> 
> And thank you guys for supporting me and I'm sorry I don't have any crackhead words for you on this update. Love you lots -Angel


	11. Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza.
> 
> This is part of the boat trip through Dany's eyes.

**C.11**

_**Fever : Part 2 of 2** _

Dany's POV

“Was I just supposed to leave her at port, she obviously needed help?” Harlen argued, leaning over the table towards the co-captain.

“ _Help_ ,” the old man emphasized. “Exactly… not her skirts around her ankles.”

Dany would have snorted but she did not want to lose her focus on every blade in the vicinity.

She was becoming too careless.

“I never specified what type of help,” Harlen insisted and the man hummed into his glass.

“No, you did not,” the co-captain agreed a moment later, rebutting. “You specified that you had a job to do on the ship–”

“That I did impeccably,” the boy’s hands shot up. “Now, will you let me finish?”

“You’re still a shite sailor,” the other man muttered.

“Oi, I’m excellent, _please_ ,” Harlen dismissed again. “Pretty certain I was a sailor in a previous life–”

“Previous life?” the question flew from her mouth.

She cursed herself.

“Oh, you were actually listening this time?” Harlen blushed.

Dany let her gloved hand fall from under her chin–on to the table, where she absently traced circles, feigning nonchalance.

They took meals together often. Especially while Jon went back to isolating himself.

Having spats on the boat where neither one of them could truly escape was unideal, and if she was honest; torture and exhausting.

She wanted to be on land already–where she could feel the earth beneath her feet and not the swaying of a ship or the salt-water in her nose.

Once, this had been a dream; sailing from port to port gathering armies, sailing across the Narrow Sea, sailing to the north… It had always brought her closer to something she longed for, but now it only brought her nearer her nightmares.

“Do you believe in previous lives?” Dany amended the query.

Harlen had a short sword at his belt and a knife in the sleeve of his tunic.

“I do not know what I believe entirely, my lady––only that I am a great sailor,” Harlen side-eyed the captain. 

There were five knives on the table, one if the captain decided to sup with them, the co-captain, herself, and Harlen. The co-captain had the dinner knife in front of him, next to his fork, on his empty plate, and a sword on his weapon belt that hung over the back of his seat. He had laid it there after three cups of summer wine.

“There are so many religions in the world, my lady, it would be terribly ignorant of me to just claim one when I know nothing else of the others… I mean I've seen women wield fire, and blind men get their sight back–just a few weeks ago, people were talking about dragons flying in the sky… Why not believe I’ve lived before?” 

The old man scoffed.

A smirk tugged at Dany’s cheeks. “You do not believe in dragons, Harlen?” 

“Do you?”

She hummed.

At night, her dreams told her dragons would come again. Kinvara had told her that dragons would come again. And Dany was certain that if she stayed longer in Asshai, she’d hear that very omen slip from Ashlanna’s lips as well.

The closer they got to Meeren the more vivid her dreams became. _Flames, dragons, ash_ … and lips so hot on her skin–it felt like a fever. 

Deep down she knew it was because they were nearing Valyria–they had to pass it in order to get to Slaver's Bay. And oh, how she craved to feel the heat of the red ruins on her back, and the dark sand and rocks beneath her feet. But she did not want to go there. Not with Jon. Not with Jon, in Essos alone, after what was said to her in Asshai. Not after what he’d told her.

They kept fighting. It was hard to tell who was starting it–only that it worsened her dreams.

 _Time apart is best_ , she reminded herself.

 _Tell him to leave and never return, he would listen to you,_ her mind also urged after seeing his blackened body burn into the ground. The same dream haunted her always; the one where they would be in King’s Landing and she would be atop Drogon, seeing him with his family behind him looking scared… _opposite of her… opposite of her_ **_and_** turning his back again. And it _always_ occurred after a spat that always ended with her falling asleep angry.

Other nights, she’d awake, clutching at her throat, gasping for air just like she had after Kinvara had brought her back. 

On the worst nights, Jon would visit her in her mind, planting little seeds of desire in her heart and belly. 

The same hands that would nudge her waist quickly when she was in the way, settled under her chin, while the other traveled to the apex of her thigh, stroking its way to her cunt where she dripped for him. 

 _Still_? the voice in the back of her head whined. _Still_.

Dany imagined that they were soft despite being war-worn. She remembered that they were tender and loving, leaving her supple and pliant, but now, Dany thought they would leave her red and aching. 

Jon Snow was not the same. 

His hands left scars. So, she knew that her body would throb under him–her lips would be kissed purple, her skin would flush and hold the outline of his hands… her cunt would quiver for him–and somehow, someway, he would still split her in half. 

Because that was what Jon Snow did; ruin her for anyone else.

“My lady–”

Dany glanced up at Harlen.

It was just them alone in the dining chamber.

The knives on the table were gone and so was the co-captain.

“He retired,” the boy supplied warily. “And a servant came and took the plates.”

Dany blinked.

She did it again.

“I–”

“You look ill… let me take you to your chamber,” Harlen frowned in concern and all Dany could do was nod.

They both raised from their seats and he led her to the illuminated hall that contained their rooms.

“You seem scared, Harlen…” Dany said after a moment of watching him fidget to unlock her room. 

“You keep disappearing on me,” the boy mumbled. “ _Both of you…_ Not physically but with your head. I did not wish to mention it but–”

Jon made Harlen straighten up but… 

“Are you frightened of me?” asked Dany contritely.

The boy hesitated, “I am not sure, my lady.”

“The closer we get to Meereen the more uneasy you become. I won’t let Daario harm you…”

“But?” Harlen squinted. “There is always a _but_.”

She pondered for a moment. 

“I need your discretion…” Dany wanted Daario to know, solely, what _she_ wanted him to know. “I can only promise you decent wages and some protection. The people that keep me safe will keep you safe, but my enemies will be your enemies and the chances of your life being in danger grow every second that you are near me…”

Irri died. Viserion died. Qhono died. Jorah died. Rhaegal died. _Missandei–_

“So, what is the difference between this and before?”

Swallowing through the burning of her face, Dany stated, “You answer to me, not Daario. You do as I say–it is your choice.” 

“So, I follow you and am protected but may die in time, or follow Ser Daario, and can potentially die now?”

“I will speak to him on your behalf if you chose to stay with him,” she said succinctly, motioning for the key in Harlen’s hand.

“Why?” he blinked, giving it to her.

“Because you have done nothing wrong, have you?” Dany arched her eyebrow and tilted her head to read his body language. And he knew that she was assessing him too by the sullen look on his face.

“No, I haven’t–I, perhaps, could have stayed more diligent but no, my lady. I do not know what happened,” Harlen frowned. “I am only following orders.”

“Then that is why.”

She was lying. Harlen was malleable and looked like he could be loyal for the right offer. He was kind and not very imposing. He was good but just wicked enough to hold his own. And he was young–strong and quick, with bright ideas and life in his eyes.

“Why do you want _my_ discretion?”

He also reminded her of someone… “It is nice. and you are too kind. Daario will ruin you, not foster your potential,” Dany supplied offhandedly, moving past him to her room. “You are not just a spy or an officer, Harlen. You are a translator, a guard–not a soldier, you defend not _offend._ ” He protects. “You do not need to be in the streets keeping peace.” He could just _be_ peace.

“What do you need from me?” She needed _peace_.

“Be my personal guard. I cannot promise I am good… but if you are who you say you are then you have been around me for years, so make your decisions wisely…”

It was quiet for naught but a moment when Harlen said, “I’ll do it. I haven’t much to lose anyway.”

“Your honor?” Dany offered.

She was not a hero.

“Haven’t got much of that anyway…” 

Dany narrowed her eyes.

“I’m a street rat, my lady,” he said bashfully. “I do what I have to–to survive.”

 _Good_. Then perhaps she needn’t worry for his life and only for hers. She would never fully trust him anyways.

“When we return to Meereen, you will help me with my items some of the way–and then you will go into the city… _not_ to the brothel,” she stepped closer to him, careful not to touch him or even feel any warmth from his body. “Not anywhere Daario would know.” Her voice was hushed. “I want you to make sure a message gets sent to the Dothraki horde…and after that, you will meet me at the inn where you will purchase a room under the name of,” Dany thought for a moment. 

“ _Jhiqui…”_ she supplied. “–and stay there until I find you.” 

 _You’re in the great game now_ … Tyrion Lannister had once told her. 

She wondered when it would end. 

“I think you are sweet, Harlen…” She took a step back and walked into her room. He reminded her so much of what her son could have looked like. He reminded her of the only true friend she’d ever had. “Do not disappoint me–too many men do, and it rarely ends well for them.” 

Dany started to close the door when Harlen’s boot stopped it.

“Who are you, my lady?” he peered through the crack, his face stricken and now looking a decade older than it did before they started the journey to Asshai.

“ _I suppose you’ll soon find out._ ”

*

The following afternoon, she watched Jon watch the sea–twirling the ugly ring with a pensive expression. That night she wrote the missive for Harlen to send out and told him to keep it safe.

XVI

Jon had watched her listen to the sounds of a harp the night before they were set to port. Coupled with the purple hues of twilight, it was beautiful and dulled her paranoia even though he still had the stupid ring on.

She fell asleep above deck after four sips of cherry wine–only waking when she felt Jon’s hand on her cheek.

The sun had set, and his thumb was moving across her rosy flush. 

His eyes were molten and dark, even in the black sky, she could see how warm they were.

“Allow me to take you to your rooms.” It wasn’t a question really. It was more that he was informing her.

He waved Harlen off and walked her below deck.

 _Dany remembered falling asleep._ The ship had been rocking and his gaze had been so hot against her skin, she felt like a lizard bathing in the sunlight. 

He looked at her like he looked at everything, cautious and unflinching. He wasn’t shy or nervous, but Dany supposed that was because her eyes were heavy.

Everything about him had been so rigid except his posture. He sat lazily and chuckled maybe once when Harlen cursed at the co-captain, _again_ , for asking when he would grow a beard like his other traveling companion. Dany would have laughed too, because Jon did have a handsome beard, but that was how she fell asleep.

 _Now_ they were walking in the dark corridor that held the doors to their rooms. 

She did not know what weapon he held. 

He could kill her in that instant.

“Careful,” his hand fell to her hips, guiding her out of her drowsy stumble. She wanted him to keep it there, but he didn’t.

When they arrived at her door, he opened it and peered around before allowing her to walk in.

After he was satisfied that she was safe, he leaned his head against the wooden frame–his arm cushioning his forehead from the rough material.

He looked so comely.

 _Gods_ , she hated him.

“You’ve been quiet since we last spoke.”

His family was a menace and she would drink a whole flagon of cherry wine with glee if they all met unfortunate fates.

“I just wanted to know how you are doing before we reach land.”

Dany shrugged, faking indifference. She just wanted to sleep forever.

 

That night, Jon pushed her against the wall of her chamber and ripped the red silk from her waist. 

His lips were soft on her skin but bruised her so sweetly. 

As one hand went from her face to her throat where he held her, a cruel smile tugged at her lips because he liked it. She could feel him stirring in his breeches… and she liked that he liked it.

His other hand ripped the scarlet fabric from her stomach and reached between her legs.

The moan that tore from her lips made him whimper into her neck. He played between her thighs exactly how she imagined the harpist played his instrument.

It wasn’t fair.

Her legs felt weak. Her heart felt weak. And her mind felt empty.

Dany pushed him away from her and he took that time to taste her from his fingers.

A noise bubbled at the back of her throat as she searched for the tie on his black tunic. She tugged at it until his lips found hers again. He begged for an entrance that she eventually gave him, but not without entwining her fingers into his long curls and yanking him harder against her. 

Pressing their bodies together, Dany did not want to feel anything besides his hard cock against her belly and the hard planes of his chest against hers.

She discarded the tunic to the floor and shoved his breeches and small clothes to his ankles.

When he inhaled, Dany felt her breath leave her mouth and travel into his as he kicked his garments off and secured her legs around him.

He pushed her onto her bed.

 _They had been here before;_ Jon Snow naked and groaning into her, as the waves crashed into the side of the ship… caressing every inch of her skin, asking if she was real as he pushed into her. 

But this time, he was wild in the eyes and fucked her with reckless abandon. 

He peeled what remained of her wrecked dress from her body, before squeezing her left teat as he licked the other into his mouth. The warmth of him sent her into a haze as his cock rubbed against spots in her that hadn’t been touched for ages.

Dany gasped as the top of her room faded into the dark sky and she saw the stars and the moon hung above her head. 

The Dothraki had done everything of importance under the sky too. That was what her mind told her… and to never drink cherry wine, walk dark corridors alone, or leave her chambers unlocked.

 _She knew it was a dream;_ a nightmare… when she woke up with an uncomfortable dampness between her legs and her body flushed all over.

 _Gods, she hated him_. He was ruining her without even touching her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was clear and vague at the same time but I'm injecting here–what I feel to be an important chapter that shows where Dany's mind is at for future chapters ;)
> 
> We are about halfway to the halfway point but these chapters are short (to keep a better pace) so I will be doing updates once a week until further notice lmfao. So I'll see you guys on Saturday <3
> 
> (You can also follow me on tumblr at i-am-small.tumblr.com and on twitter at @silverdoes)
> 
> I'll be replying to comments today or tmr–I hope! I was so astounded by the number of people still reading. It deeply warmed my heart and I talked about it for the last week to my best friend. Even if your comment is as simple as a heart, trust me when I say that you taking your time to leave me something means the world to me!


	12. Fuel to the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza.

**C.12**

_**Fuel to the Fire** _

Jon's POV

_The ravens…._

They were absent from the apex of the pyramid–not even on the balcony and missing from any railings. 

_There were no ravens._

Jon eyed Dany who gave Harlen a nod.

They were at a crossroad. One path would take them into the city and another towards the Second Sons which were coming into clear vision. 

And there were more of them which Jon assumed meant that Daario Naharis had returned.

When Dany told Harlen to go home, Jon narrowed. The boy’s spirit had been lowering for the last few days; he spoke less, ate less, and kept views on her at all times. Lines had drawn at his forehead, almost knowing that the venture to Asshai could cost him his life. 

_But surely, he couldn’t be allowed to leave yet…_

The boy had known what had happened, and Jon imagined that she’d want to inform Daario. 

Nevertheless, Jon took her sack from Harlen as Dany slipped on her little half gloves.

She nudged the boy toward the city before she turned back to him. Her eyes were telling him a story but Jon could not figure out what the tale was… 

Her expression became steel shortly after, and she resumed her stride.

They began passing the sellswords as she lowered her hood, letting her white curls spring free. And as soon as they started ascending the stairs, all the guards bowed. When they entered the Pyramid, the men dropped to one knee until she waved them up.

Jon wished he could see the expression her face held for none of the men lifted their heads until she was out of reach. They asked no questions. And no one stepped in their way.

 _She’s a queen_ , Jon did not have to remind himself. The way she walked did. The way she commanded did. 

As he watched everyone clear her path, Jon knew that as quickly as anyone assumed power because of her, she could take it back without blinking. She had made that abundantly clear in this moment. 

With every thump of his boots against the stone ground, a pound sounded between Jon’s temples. With every click of Dany’s sandals, Jon felt his vision blur just a little more.

He knew the noises had to have been faint, but in his mind, every step grew louder the further they moved into the pit of the monument. Unease started to creep his spine.

“ _Uh_ ,” Jon started from behind her. He knew that they were going in the direction of her chambers… but that was until they made a hard left. 

He had left his belongings in the Pyramid, but he did not need them today. He could just purchase supper and rent a room for the night–

“I can leave…” _He should leave._

“What?” She halted abruptly, turning with a brief twinge of alarm on her face. 

As soon as his brows knitted together, she slammed all her walls back down and blinked. “ _Why_?”

He had no real reason to leave immediately other than the feeling in his gut that the next few hours would not end well for either of them. 

“I–” Jon shook his head and motioned for her to resume her stride. 

As they walked, she slowly undid the ties on her cloak and let it slip off her shoulders revealing a dress the color of a dark twilight sky dipped in crimson blood. The opulent material was pleated at the bottom and as Jon’s eyes journeyed upwards, clung tighter and tighter until it completely ceased to exist above her behind. The cutouts revealed her curves so explicitly Jon wanted to drape her cape back over shoulders, knowing damn well he did not want Naharis to see her. 

Jon did not notice that the double doors were being opened by the guards until they creaked.

Dany spared not even a glance toward the men.

The air surrounding them was thick, and the energy that exuded off her was power. It was the same feeling he felt in King’s Landing before he entered the throne room.

Jon glanced around.

He wanted to vomit.

“Oh look,” drawled Daario Naharis’ voice from an elaborate armchair at the head of a stone table. 

They were in a war room, or, perhaps, what a pyramid would consider to be a great hall. The table was large enough to sup at, as well as strategize. 

“The runaway queen and her pet have returned.” The man’s voice was full of sarcasm and Jon's fingers immediately itched for the knife at his hips. 

If Naharis did not stand up, Jon knew he was in the perfect position to throw it and the damage would be fatal. However, the man _did_ stand and take a step from the raised ground the table rested on. 

“I am not apologizing for that so save that glower for someone else,” the other man said as he inched closer to her.

A fierce streak of emotion poured over Jon, and he needed Daario to take, at the very minimum, five steps back from her form.

“Where are the ravens?” Dany asked succinctly.

Naharis’ eyes traveled slowly from her face to her chest and then stopped right above her waist.

Fury ripped through Jon violently, pulling a horrible possessiveness that had never existed within him. There was so much history between them, Jon could feel it in how casually she accepted the other man’s gaze and how he could read her expression with no question.

Jealousy. Jon felt true jealousy. It had been a long time since he had longed for something another man had.

Feeling his whole body tense, Jon tried to tear his stare away and put it on her until he realized what the man was looking at.

_The scar._

The dress had to show her scar.

When Dany brushed by Naharis, the man sent a chilling look at him before turning to follow her with his eyes.

“I shot them down,” the commander shrugged with ease. “Did you have a fun holiday?”

Before she reached another door, Dany turned around slowly with such wrath her in eyes that Naharis took a step back.

Jon blinked.

Her anger was just _anger_. He was certain he’d seen it all from the last moon of traveling together. However, his eyes fell to the dull scar as she spoke, “Is that what you think I did?” 

Her voice did not match her expression. It was distilled of any emotion; calculated and low. _“_ Take a break?” Dany balled up her heavy cloak, breaking Jon’s trance on the wound he caused. “ _Have a holiday?_ ” Her voice grew an octave as she threw it at the other man. 

Jon would have felt smug if his emotions were not so heavy. He would have smirked if his throat had not dried. He might have even pulled out a chair to watch the godly exchange.

“No!” she finally snapped. “I was too busy being cursed.” 

Jon waited for Naharis to realize that it was not a figure of speech.

“What?” 

“Did I fucking stutter? Did she not tell you?” 

Who was _she_? 

“Or do you both not think with you heads shoved so far up your own arses and dreams?” 

 _Both who?_  

“Nearly every decision I make, I think through. And every step forward I seem to take, something sends me hurling back–”

Dany pressed forward with venom in her eyes. “But I _always_ try to think… even as I have ice crystals burning my body and curses pulled from my veins, I never fail to think about the consequences of my actions or of anything that I do–”

“What happened, Daenerys?” the commander bit, tossing her cape aside, surging toward her with such care, Jon let out a silent breath. 

He wondered if Daario loved her better.

Jon blinked.

He wished to leave. 

There was no place for him here, he thought when Daario reached out for her.

“We were attacked,” she jerked back with disgust, raising her hand, pointing at him to not touch her.

The gloves.

That was why she was wearing gloves.  

She did not want him to touch her.

“Her guard is dead,” Jon stated roughly, feeling some reprieve. Naharis shot a look in his direction before he turned back to Daenerys. It was enough of a distraction for her to slip away.

“How?” Daario went to the terrace and looked over the edge. Jon supposed he knew his men, where they were stationed, and had already taken count of who was missing.

“We were speaking and–”

“No,” the commander’s voice lashed at them. Jon could almost see a twinge of hurt on his features before the other man, too, steeled himself. “ _You_ do not speak,” Naharis informed her before turning to Jon. “ _You_ never speak… and with you _,”_ he pointed at Jon, “–she gets angry… So, that means _arguing_ and then you both didn’t notice the guards were gone…”

 _Well, he wasn’t wrong,_ Jon supposed. 

“Do you even know his name?” Naharis asked but before Jon could even attempt to recall it, Dany spoke.

“ _Adaran_.”

The commander gritted his teeth.

“Adaran Vhassolis… The men that were in the city should be dead–” Dany informed Naharis while holding Jon’s belongings in her hands. 

“They should not be a problem for you now,” she walked around the table, inching toward Jon and offered him his things, exchanging them with her own sack.

He tried to catch her eyes, but she would not allow him to. 

She nodded at him and turned away.

It was a dismissal, he knew, but his feet were rooted to the ground as she edged around her commander like he was her prey. “And don’t you ever raise your voice like that to me again.” Her jaw was tight as her eyes gleamed. “I know we may not be agreeing on a lot recently, but do not ever disrespect me or question my intelligence,” she spat. “I’m sending for Dothraki to scan the area for any remains… a moon has barely passed. I would like to collect the bones for his daughter.”

Jon’s stomach dropped as Naharis’ started rubbing his forehead.

“ _Daughter_?” Jon’s voice was low.

“She’s five and ten,” Dany offered quietly. “ _A pretty thing._ ”

“And her mother?” Jon probed further, hoping– 

“Died nine years ago.” The information felt like a whip. “She’s alone,” Dany stated before she dismissed herself. 

All that was left when she disappeared from the room through a side door was discomfort.

“What happened?” Naharis’ voice lacked the sardonic edge it donned before. He just seemed tired now.

“I do not know,” Jon stated, unwilling to tell anything more than what she did. He had no reason to speak to _her_ commander. 

“ _I know you do._ ”

Jon sneered, “So why did you ask?” 

*

As soon as he left the Pyramid, he rushed to Melila to confirm whether the men were gone from the city.

“And greetings to you again, Jon Snow,” she tried to jest but her face fell immediately when she realized that he was serious.

“Haven’t seen em’ for weeks,” she stated before slowly asking, “ _Why_?” Her eyes narrowed, “What did you do?” 

The question came from her the same way it would a mother to a child–gone was any flirtation or fake demure.

“Nothing,” the lie slipped out of him with ease. 

Jon froze.

He looked to the sky and did something he had just told Dany he’d stopped doing,... 

Jon silently searched for the memory of his father and questioned which he should ask forgiveness for; who he is or what he was becoming.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I apologize for this length, lets get into the moodboard... not to toot my own horn but I made the hair white on the second image and aghhhh the dress-SISTERSSSSS!
> 
> Sorry for the short chapter but I need to keep pace–if you want the next update faster, let me know if you've read this and that you don't mind updates during the week... I know a lot of people work during the week so I like to keep my updates until the weekends but if you don't mind, I can update sooner. 
> 
> Just let me know <3 Thank you for reading, leave me a comment for some love! -Angel


	13. When the Night Came

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza.
> 
> *slaps chapter down* :)

**C.13**

_**When the NIght Came** _

Jon's POV

XVII

Nothing would kill a man faster than his own mind, Jon knew. Too often the only escape was sleep. So, what happened when one could not even do that? Sip ale, or wine… or any spirit really… But Jon would not do that either. Not here. _Not now_. Something was watching him, and any drink would be a direct shot, catapulting him into a dark sea of phantom feelings–feeling the ache of something he knows is there but cannot fully distinguish.

 _Think of her_ , the voice in the back of his mind instructed, but when he did, he saw her with wrath in her eyes and poison on her lips–standing on a mountain of dead bodies.

His hands were bloody but they were clean also. Were hers?

_Not her. Not her. Not her._

_She was good_ , he told himself. _So good_. The way she smelled, the way she cared, the way she talked, the way she looked… like the moon had fallen from the sky–with her moondust hair, and her pearly skin, and tongue that he remembered tasted like the stars.

 _“You’re not supposed to be a liar, Jon Snow.”_ He could almost hear her voice.

Jon paced around his new room on the ground floor. Of course it was not on the second story––he spent too many nights marching across his chamber, disrupting whoever had been beneath him. 

His innkeeper was old with sallow skin and honey-colored eyes. She usually wore a look of disdain but this evening, she nodded and led him to the back where it was secluded. 

Jon wondered if she wanted him dead or if she finally grasped the violent nature of his night terrors. 

 _“Welcome back, sir.”_ The woman’s cheek had twitched slightly as she backed out of the room, allowing him to close and bolt it.  

Jon twisted the ring on his finger, blinked twice before respiring, and lowered his face into his palms as his vision blurred around the edges.

He was blacking out. 

He wondered if he wanted to. 

Sadness… he’d never understood who he was without it, and once again, he was just tired; tired of talking, tired of fighting, tired of pretending he was fine with things he felt were wrong as memories of his father gathered around him, suffocating him. He felt the ghost of his mother tapping at the glass around his heart, trapped in between sharp shards and the reflection of herself that looked startlingly like Arya.

Jon wanted Ghost. _Desperately_. He needed his muzzle in his palms, a few scratches at his bedpost, a whine to pull his from his daze, or a howl at the moon to break him from his thoughts… He needed _something_.

A knock sounded at his door. 

It wasn’t a pound, but it was about four sharp shrikes that shattered his dimness. How? Jon did not know, but he tucked a blade in the back of his breeches and padded his way over to the entrance. 

Before he could even take her in through the crack he made, Dany pushed past him, slammed it shut, and walked into his chamber with her eyebrows knitted together and a look of affront.

_What did he do now?_

“I can’t sleep.” It was all she said as she looked around his dwellings.

He felt only a twinge of embarrassment. It wasn’t much, and certainly no better than the previous time she’d visited him.

“I– _uh_.” _How was he to help with that?_

 _Well_ , Jon’s mind plummeted to a carnal place. He could think of a lot of ways but none of those were good for them. 

Dany took nimble steps around his bed, shaking off her hood and removing her black cloak. 

Jon blinked. 

She tossed the cape at the foot of his cot as his stomach churned with aches that needed to die.

He twisted the ring around his finger again. 

_She’d changed dresses._

Jon supposed that she wanted to wear her own items made to withstand the Meereenese weather… Asshai was warm but it was a wet warmth; both sweltering and damp. Meereen’s heat was like a strike across the face, and the wind was like a gravely whip to the back. 

 _Wind should not be hot_ , he’d told her once. Dany had, of course, rolled her eyes as she indulged in a cake, ignoring his scowl towards the sun.

Jon tried not to stare as she smoothed down her sheer gown. It was the color of the sea’s surface; both blue and green and _utterly fucking sheer_. Whoever had made it must have looked to the ocean and wanted to recreate it with silk so delicate that Jon felt that if he accidentally stepped on it, the thing would tear off. _And_ he could very well step on it, or at least, the thin shawl that cascaded to the floor from its weaved position around her arms.

The abrupt movement of Dany ripping gloves from her hands snapped Jon’s attention to her waist where the entwining fabric cinched her making her seem impossibly smaller. 

He turned the ring at his finger once more as she threw the rich emerald leather gloves onto his bed before fixing her wrap.

Dany smoothed back the silver tresses she had secured at the back of her head with a tie before quickly stating, “I am leaving Meereen.” 

Jon’s eyes snapped back to hers.

They were hard.

The ring, he rotated it. “ _Oh._ ” _Another trip?_ he wanted to ask but she turned her back to him, walking towards his small window with a thick rust curtain that lead to a side street. 

“I want a home,” she sucked in a breath before letting it out slowly. “I don’t want to be here. _Daario_ –he’s been taking care of me for too long anyway.”

She was leaving. 

Jon’s stomach plummeted. She was leaving the city, Daario, _and him_ –because why would she tell him if she was not just planning to disappear.

He kept spinning the ring now. The void was returning. 

 _Not fucking now_ , Jon urged his mind to hush before his body started shaking. He bit his lip knowing that darkness had been crawling in his skin for hours.

“Will I ever be able to see you?” He must have sounded pathetic for she whipped around, frowning.

His eyes were probably turning dark, or cold, or detached, or full. He wasn’t sure but his palms were starting to shake so Jon lowered his head. 

He wanted Ghost. 

“Probably,” she said quietly. “I just don’t want to be in the Pyramids,” she explained swiftly.

Jon stopped twirling the ring.

She was moving closer. He could feel the air changing. “You can visit me wherever I go.” 

He felt as if he was losing her; like his mind, she was, too, slipping through his fingers, _out of touch_ , and no matter how much he tried to hold on, she’s disappearing into an abyss of darkness.

“ _Will you help me look?”_

Jon glanced up.

“You said–” Dany trailed off, standing in front of him with her face worried. She was not even trying to hide the concern etched on to her features.

Jon swallowed.

“I– _aye…_ Is this because you two argued?”

Dany understood who he was referring to.

“Daario has a conflict of interest.”

“He loves you,” Jon said plainly.

“That as well,” she squinted her eyes.

Jon did not even try to hide his jealousy. It would be impossible to anyways.

“I do not know what I am doing or living for… So, I have to find it because it is not in the pyramids,” she paused and then added cautiously, “I am leaving tomorrow as well.”

Blinking, he asked, “Where?” _Another trip? Perhaps_ –

“And no, you cannot come.”

Jon frowned, “Why?”

“Because I say so,” she dismissed offhandedly. “You need to rest anyway.”

“I have been confined to a bloody ship for almost a moon, I think I can handle it,” Jon gritted his teeth, but she was already walking away from him, only throwing a warning glare his way at the tone of his voice. 

His arm was fine. Sore but fine. He just should not be lifting anything too heavy.

Jon closed his eyes and attempted to breathe before straining out another question, “How long?”

“Maybe a fortnight–give or take.” 

He sucked in a harsh breath and turned the signet.

“Will Daario be going with you?” The question slipped past his teeth before he could stop it.

“No,” she bit.

“Harlen?” Jon probed, seeing that she was willing to acknowledge the inquiry.

“He’ll only be gone for a few days…”

“Why does he get to go?” he argued, feeling like a petulant child.

“ _Because I say so,_ ” she retorted again sharply. “What is your problem?”

“I do not have a problem,” he snapped and stopped spiraling the ring.

Her eyes caught his adjustment with a quirk of her brow. “You are getting better at lying,” she said, tearing her gaze away from him.

Lying was easy, he realized. It made him feel less weak and comforted him when nothing else would.

 _Nothing would kill a man faster than his own mind._ His wry thoughts repeated. _Destroy everything,_ it taunted him. _It’s the best option._

Jon clenched his left fist.

_Lie your way through everything. What is one more?_

He blinked.

_He was fine._

Jon swallowed trying to quell the burning in the back of his throat.

_He wasn’t just in Meereen because of her._

He spun the signet again. 

_He loved his family unconditionally._

The dull edge of his nail began to dent the inside of his palm.

_He was fine._

“You’re upset…. Because I am leaving?” Dany took a step closer.

_“You should go.”_

“I came here because–” _Another step._

“Why did you come here?!” Red flames engulfed the edge of his vision, burning his resolve, patience, and honor away.

“I thought–” _One more step…_

It was a mistake.

“You do not owe me a _debt_ ,” Jon bit, feeling every bit as wild as a wolf in a cage.

He felt cornered.

“Out of the two of us, I am the least likely to do things because I feel indebted–” she spat, and he kissed her.

It was rough and hard and bruising and not at all what it should have been like. It lacked romance and warmth, but she grabbed the back of his tunic and gripped the small hair at the base of his neck.

He grabbed at her waist, turned them, and then slammed her against the wall.

A whimper crawled its way from her throat.

Jon knew he should not be touching her, but still, his fingers outlined her silhouette, letting the soft silk brush against his fingertips while feeling the fire emit from her body through the thin fabric.

 _Gods_ , he remembered everything. She moved the same, she breathed the same, she tasted the same; like winter and wind, fire and honey; sugary, warm, and dangerous. 

Her aura was blistering, and she begging to be stoked.

Jon had the coarseness and tenderness of someone who had been starved of love for years and the inelegance of someone out of practice, but his passion forced himself to improvise. He realized that he was hungry. He’d been hungry for something for ages and now he was being fed.

The void settled around his head as his blood rushed south.

Her mouth was soft and wet, and they fought, nipping and grazing until he grunted. Her tongue wrenched his lips apart. She stroked against his, tasting sweet but nothing about her was sweet.

He knew her. _Gods_. He remembered her. If he decided to jerk himself back, her hand at his neck would have gone to the tie at his tunic, and the one at his bum would have gone straight to his cock. _He knew her._

“If you push me away again,” she murmured against his lips, “I will never come back.”

 _Ultimatums._ He knew her. He knew her. He knew her.

And he knew she meant it.

Thoughts on if her cunt would taste as sweet as her lips… and darkness–were at the forefront of his mind as he tore himself away.

Her mouth was puffy and if he nibbled at it again, it would bleed.

And he wanted it to… 

Her eyes–it was like they continued to tell the same tale as they had been earlier in the day, and once again Jon could not tell what it was… Only that it was heavy and all-knowing.

“I only apologize if I overstepped…” he said thickly, his voice solemn and seared around the edges. If she was to bleed again, it’d only ever be by him, he decided. “Did I overstep?” his eyes rose to her violet ones and now he could not read them at all.

“ _Yes_.” 

His cock was as hard as it had been in years, over his aunt, a woman who had massacred countless people, a woman he had murdered without honor… and all he wanted to do was press her against the door, coax a scream from her, and bury his seed so deep into her that she would remember him the entire time she was gone.

“I’ll be back soon, Jon Snow.” She scanned the room quickly for her items without looking at him again.

And just like that, she swept from his rooms, slipping on her cape as she stumbled through the dimly lit hall.

He would have offered to take her to the pyramid if he was not certain that Harlen was at the brothel next door.

 _Jon knew her._ She would have denied anyway.

It was almost sunrise, he noticed when he went to watch her from his small window.

Time; it both barely existed and confined him at the same time.

He had not slept. They had not slept.

His neighbors would surely recognize her.

 _Jon knew her._ She wanted them to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter has been changed to filmhades but I probably wont use that one anymore. choosing to go to my private one with less uhm drama and childishness. if you really feel its necessary to follow me, message me on tumblr (i-am-small) and I may give it to you but yea, I'm not really in the GOT fandom as much anymore, probs will just talk about my writing process, reylo, create edits, join book twit, and scream about zoe and roberts batman movie, andddd maybe complain about castlevania not being as good as its first season. so yea, just wanna finish these fics up and hopefully make you guys proud <3
> 
> AND this might be my favorite moodboard ever. 
> 
> Now bad news, we are at a situation, my beta has the next 6 chapters, so whenever I get the chap back is when I will update. I hope you understand and enjoyed :) pls leave me a nice comment, I know these chapters are short but I really did spend months pacing them out so they read better later! thank you for the support, truly <3
> 
> -angel


	14. Visions in the Flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza.

**C.14**

_**Visions in the Flames (Interlude)** _

Dany's POV

“The fire had always shown this,” Kinvara spoke quietly. 

They were in a pit of ash in the center ring.

Dany hugged her arms around herself. 

It was unusually chilly despite it being Valyria but Kinvara said something about the seasons changing as Dany watched the sun hide behind the clouds. 

“It was always a half chance… that he’d return and that you would…”

Dany wished the other woman would stop speaking.

“I suppose it does not matter now,” the witch turned from the pit of dying fire.

They were alone and separated by an invisible line of emotion. It felt like goodbye.

There was no light in priestess’ eyes. She even wore a modest black gown; gone were her ambitious witches bustling behind her, or apt curiosity. 

The woman was tired, and Dany felt culpable. _Again_.

Anger bubbled in her stomach. 

She did not tell Kinvara to do any of this. She did not want her or Daario to exist around her. And she hated the feeling of responsibility–her chest felt like it was closing and it if Dany hadn’t felt Drogon stirring unhappily she would have gasped for breath.

Everything was always her fault. If she went to a market and something happened, she would be blamed. If she stayed indoors and did nothing, she would be questioned. If she tried to make the world better, she was imposing. If she sat back and watched people burn, she was a monster.

Nothing matters.

“No, it does not,” Dany agreed with the priestess.

She felt Drogon land one ring away.

“Tell me one thing, your grace,” Kinvara glanced at her the same way she had when she first raised her; like she was no more than a child. “What is it about him that makes you feel so at ease that you’re willing to allow everything you build to crumble beneath you just to hold his broken heart in your hands–”

“Did you know that they are watching him?” Dany retorted with a coldness that told the witch to shut her mouth. 

“They are always watching him.”

_They?_

“I meant–”

Kinvara arched her eyebrows. They– _they_ meant Westeros, _they_ meant red witches all around Essos. It did not matter. Everyone was watching them.

 _They want to see you fall,_ her head mercilessly taunted.

Dany willed her eyes to focus on the woman in front of her instead of darting around with paranoia. “Did you know they would be coming for me?”

“Yes, child,” Kinvara sighed glancing lazily around the perimeter of the land they were on. The witch’s posture told her that was precisely why Kinvara had not wanted her to leave. _But Dany had not listened._

 _Jon could have been hurt_ , her mind told her. 

 _Not your problem_ , another part of her reminded. 

“Why did Ashlanna–”

“Do not,” Kinvara snapped, holding her hand up. 

Dany blinked.

She had not even been trying to goad the woman. “You mean to tell me that instead of me worrying about her and her band of rebel witches, I should be worried about her successfully planting seeds of doubt in your mind and turning you against me? _Please_. I was chin-deep in sorcery and surrounded by dirt and maggots,” the witch waved off, lifting the lace of her black gown from the dirt, exposing her bare feet as she went to move past Dany. “I try to tell you everything,” the priestess halted beside her. “ _You know what?_ I should have seen that coming.”

“Then what is it that you do see?”

“Visions in the flames,” Kinvara circled her. “You know, I found–”

“I do not care what you bloody found!” 

She was being hunted. Valyria was almost breached. And she was being targeted by Westeros… it was no longer just a possibility. It was _happening_. 

Kinvara hummed.

“Just hurry up–” Dany bit, backing out of the pit.

“For what?” the witch squinted. “You won’t be here… and I live longer than you.”

 _You want the glory,_ is what Kinvara challenged.

“I am tired, and I feel like I want to sleep for the rest of my life.” Her gauzy blue dress was catching on rocks as she continued to back away.

“Oh my dear,” Kinvara rushed to her. “That is melancholia–you should perhaps see a physician.” 

The sardonic edge in the woman’s voice unsettled Dany. _Was she speaking to a friend or foe?_

“Kinvara, please. I want this finished soon.” 

“It will be,” the witch’s hand dropped as if she had heard Dany’s thoughts.

Disappointment. Dany saw it. _Why does it still fucking hurt?_

“Now you tell me one more thing–will he betray me?” Before Kinvara opened her mouth, Dany quickly added. “Not Jon.”

“The boy?” Kinvara’s head tilted to the side. “You grew fond of him rather quick…”

“I need a guard.”

“I imagine so… Daario is rather preoccupied.”

“And cares too much.”

“So will the boy.”

Silence.

If Dany went further back, she would be at the stairs that would raise her to the path to the city’s center. In order to climb them, she would have to turn her back or risk tripping on the broken rock. 

“Not after I tell him,” she dismissed quickly waiting for Kinvara’s final word.

“Men always care too much,” the priestess waved off, a bit of her nonchalance coming back into her posture. “They either see a lover or a mother… _but probably so._ ”

“The fire tells you he will betray me?”

“No,” Kinvara made a face and pushed past her, up the steps. “I do not trust men,” she reminded.

Perhaps a few years ago, Dany’s lips would have quirked, but their eyes were hard and gone was the other woman’s wistfulness.

“He will be with you for a long while.” 

Dany followed the priestess past a pretty stone statue of a woman draped in silks. Trees now hung low over their heads but Kinvara promised they would be trimmed.

“And then?” Dany probed.

“He’s not very important,” Kinvara stopped and turned around with a frustrated face.

“I need guards,” she reminded. 

“I see–” the priestess started, looking away, and then returning to her previous stride, commenting for her to be careful with the thick moss growing in the cracks of the pathway.

“Why does it feel like I’ve disappointed you too?” Dany could not stop the question from pushing past her teeth. She already knew she had. And she’d told herself for years that she did not care about this woman but the moment an uncomfortable silence fell between them, Dany felt like air was being sucked from her lungs.

“Oh, my love, because you are breaking my heart,” the high priestess stated quietly as they reached Valryia’s center point; _Missandei’s Mountain._

It was the city’s guide; a map on the ruin’s highest peak. Every path from the fountain that contained the statue of her friend led them to something different. _She_ was the city’s guide.

The southern bridge would lead them to the previous ring, the northern, to the pit and the trail to Kinvara’s temple, east to the castle, and west to the facilities. 

Missandei had given her direction. She had been the wisest and most kind. The only person to offer her true loyalty.

Dany thought that whoever lived here deserved to be guided by her memory.

“I now know that I–this… it would have never been enough. You’ll always want more…” Kinvara stared at the figure with wild curls and broken chain at its feet. “I do not know what I expected from dragons…. _Your lover is training the boy as we speak._ ” 

Her mouth was dry, but she wished to argue. 

 _Want_? She hadn’t the faintest idea what she _truly_ wanted and she needed people to stop telling her that or to ‘figure it out’… _How_? How does one figure that out?

A scream bubbled in her throat.

When Kinvara glanced over her shoulder, Dany saw hundreds of years in the priestess’ eyes… 

Tears of frustration pricked her eyes as she fled from the center ring.

Valyria was now habitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever just have something so good happen with someone you like and then your friends ruin it even though they are right LMFAO ? Yeah, that's Kinvara. I love her though. I hope you do too <3
> 
> I am actually fucking terrified to post this because it is so short but like, the pacing. I am so sorry for the length, but I promise, if you reread, it reads better this way instead of whatever the hell mess I was doing in the beginning. Uhm, I do hope you enjoy.... the next chapter has a lot of jonerys softness. and then the chapter after that... some things may or may not happen ;D
> 
> I don't love to explain my stories to you guys anymore because I'd rather you take from it what you will, however, some of you have brought up that Jon and Dany go back and forth a lot, and yea, this is one of those fics. Sorry babes. I labeled it dark jonerys because it isn't necessarily the healthiest of relationships because they are constantly fighting. BUT, If you look close enough, you'll see Jon has been spiraling differently than in the first chapters because he is struggling to remain honest with himself and keep a set personality. He is struggling to find stability in what he was taught, who he became, what he has seen, what he is seeing, what was hidden from him, what he knows IS being hidden from him, and his gut. 
> 
> I hope you guys have been able to find the small details that I have been leaving in that he looks to Dany and sees hope, but that it might not be the best thing for them because she is not who she was or very reliable either. And it is certainly a lot of pressure to be a hero.
> 
> Similarly with Dany, she is battling between what people want her to be and atonement and the idea of happiness. There are moments where she trusts herself and but also lacks confidence and I hope this chapter leaves the bitterness in your mouth as it is left in Dany's... in that she has done so much but will it ever be enough... 
> 
> So this will be a constant fight until certain things force them to do WAY better. I just don't think that with this particular story, everything will just be alright and uphill. There is too much trauma and too much trauma I want to explore and write. But know that they will make peace with it and learn to create a different love than the idea of love that they (we) wanted. So bear with them while they figure out what that looks like. 
> 
> but if this isn't for you, I also understand <3
> 
> Please Please leave me a comment so that I know you are still there even if it’s just a heart, I've actually had so much fun reading through your reactions. It makes me feel less like shit <3 love you guys lots! I will be back on friday bc of guilt<3
> 
>  
> 
> ETA: I am totally happy in answering questions if you want me to! I just want to refrain from posting them in the authors notes because I know that when people read, they like to figure out the core of the story on their own and I don’t want to be disruptive!


	15. Slow Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza.
> 
> (A nice mellow chapter before we have a joy ride next week) <3
> 
> (My beta totally lost her shit so I just want it to be next weekends update already ahaha)

**C.15**

_**Slow Love** _

Dany's POV

When she returned to Meereen, it turned out Kinvara had not lied about the boy. Jon had shown him vacant buildings and guided him about guarding duties.

But Harlen had also told her that he had spoken to Jon.

“I said that I could no longer tell him things about you, my lady,” Harlen leaned back into his seat, taking a careful sip of nectar.

“And why did you do that?” Dany narrowed.

“Code,” he supplied quietly. “If I am employed by you, I answer to you, not to him.” The words were succinct as they came out of his mouth.

Dany wondered if she made a mistake by how quickly the boy stopped acting like a boy again. “There cannot be–it is not proper. Your safety is my concern and I do not know if we can trust him.”

“Why do you say that?” she snapped up.

“Because I must always think that your life is in jeopardy. Everyone that is not me or not someone I command cannot be trusted.”

 _Oh_. “Very well.”

The boy made a face of concern. “Is there something I should know about him?”

“Yes,” Dany nodded but did not say a thing. Harlen did not press either.

*

The next time Dany saw Jon, she was seated on the steps of the orphanage. The kids were in their studies and Harlen was speaking to some girl by the time Jon lowered himself to a spot next to her.

He’d brushed a pale blue curl from her eyes as she glared at the sun.

They said nothing.

 

When the children were let out, a little attentive boy stared at Jon until Jon nodded at him. His eyes flickered to her with worry before Jon waved him over. 

“Mother will be displeased,” was all the boy said.

“Isn’t she always?” Jon retorted smoothly.

Something envious fluttered in her belly.

The little boy cracked a smile before Jon awkwardly glanced at her.

Being a perceptive thing, the boy bowed politely, “My lady.” 

Dany forced a smile until her face eventually fell–seeing Adaran’s girl appear. According to Harlen, she transcribed old Ghiscari glyphs for the libraries.

“My apologies, sweetheart, will you excuse me?” Dany reached out the child, distractedly, with her half-gloved hand, ghosting his shoulder.

He nodded, diligently standing beside a rising Jon.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harlen excuse himself from his conversation to keep watch on her.

As Dany approached the girl, her head fell. She already knew.

The remains had been found, and all the girl needed to do was tell Dany what to do with them.

 

“You will be taken care of–whatever it is you need, it will be provided, your father… I–will make sure of it,” Dany informed. “If you wish, you can even stay in the Pyramids–there will always be guards and food and–”

“Will you be here?”

Dany froze before she hesitantly said, “No.”

“I suppose it does not matter then…. I can have a guard anywhere, but I do not have any family or–”

Adaran was a paranoid man and the girl had not done much but attend lessons and keep their home. She was content with a book and a needle.

Dany wished she could tell the thing that she would be fine with no family, but Dany, too, had no true family and she was certainly far from fine. So, she said, “I understand… when you find out what it is you _want_ , I will be happy to oblige.”

The words burned her tongue. And in private, Dany had offered her a place in Valyria. The girl frowned in disbelief.

She left it at that.

Harlen had walked Saelena Vhassolis to her home.

Jon offered to stay at the Pyramid until he returned.

“How was your trip?” It was a nimble question. 

She had been gone for one and twenty days. 

Jon edged around the stone table that contained roasts, vegetables, and chilled fruit.

Dany shrugged, “How are you?”

Jon shrugged as he rounded on her next.

Something was burning in his eyes again. He still looked tired, but life singed at the corners.

“In a few moments, I am going to kiss you,” he spoke. His breath smelled like the mint that was in their water, and his raven curls were in his eyes by the time he lowered his head.

Perhaps she should have stopped him, but then his arms snaked around her waist, bringing her on to the tips of her toes as his lips descended on hers.

XVIII

“What’s this?” Jon asked, his voice low and gravelly with sleep.

Of course she had barged her way into his room with no warning at the crack of dawn. And no, she did not feel bad. Not one bit, she thought as she watched Jon sink back on to his cot with his mussed hair and tunic-free torso.

She was holding a pouch out to him in order to appear as if she was not staring at him while he rubbed his eye.

“What is it?” Jon repeated and she shoved the small red velvet sack further in his face.

“Alright,” Jon grumbled leaning away and snatching it from her with a frown.

Dany smiled contritely.

When he untied the pouch, he tipped it over and let the dark necklace fall into his lap. 

She remembered what Ashlanna said very clearly. _‘I believe it is these that she uses to protect what is yours’._ Dany would not forget. _‘Can surely protect a few specific people from all types of evil eyes.’_  

“What is this?” Jon frowned harder, examining the jewelry curiously. She could tell that he didn’t _not_ like it; but it wasn’t that. He was wary of it.

Dany rolled her eyes.

She would be too, but she still huffed.

“Are we not talking again?” Jon’s eyes were heavy as he stared at her; full of amusement, paranoia, and something else.

Dany glared and turned to walk to the other side of the room.

He caught her hand and tugged her backward. His fingers found her wrists as she caught his gaze. 

Jon’s thumbs played at the little button that secured the dark leather of her gloves.

When he unclasped it, Dany flinched but he still took them off.

“I did not get you anything,” he said as he looked up at her. There was still sleep in his eyes, so she wiped at them.

Her fingers lingered as she responded, “I don’t _want_ anything.”

He snorted but raised his palms to settle on her caress.

“Liar.”

She inwardly winced.

He should be the last one talking. 

“Is it going to kill me?” Jon questioned, leaning into her hold.

“I sure hope not.”

“Truly?” She was not sure if Jon was being sarcastic or hopeful, but she slapped the side of his cheek anyways before letting her fingers trail his jaw and neck before fleeing.

She heard Jon sigh as she went towards his table.

The ring was still in his possession. And so was wax. There were rows of sealed wax with the three-eyed raven symbol on parchment, like he had been obsessing over it in the weeks she was gone.

“Stop being nosy.” He came up behind her, reaching and shoving the wax, ring, and papers into the back cupboard of the table.

She gritted her teeth but faltered when she felt the flex of his muscles on her back.

Taking a deep breath, Dany turned around and forced herself to glare at him.

 _Oh_. He was wearing the chain.

It looked… adequate on him.

It was also flickering.

Red meant danger, she remembered.

“Why is it doing this?” Jon pointed to his chest as she watched the stone flare and then dim from its encasing.

“It’s magic,” Dany supplied, feigning the nonchalance she did not feel–at all. She tried to wiggle her way out of his confines… but she was trapped in between his table and his hips.

“And you do not know if it will kill me?”

“It would be very unfortunate if you were to die on my _watch_ , wouldn’t it?”

Jon grunted and pushed away.

Dany breathed correctly for the first time since she stepped into his room.

“Whenever you are ready… we have a long day ahead of us,” Dany called lightly as he disappeared behind a divider, with a grumble… possibly looking for a tunic. 

“Red–it looks good on you, by the way,” she added besides her best judgment.

“Aye?”

It suited him. Black and red. Danger. Blood. Fire. Darkness… It always suited him.

XIX

“Oh please, I know you better than that,” Jon flicked a fallen rose petal off the side of the table and commented. “This place is ugly.”

They stared at each other before she cracked a smile. “It is, isn’t it?”

He sounded petulant after the fourth home they visited that day, “They are all fucking ugly.” And hard to guard.

Some were around too many people and others were as Jon said, _appalling to look at._

It was funny to Dany that Jon was so vocal about this when everything in the north was fucking ugly… except for the white snow, but even that had quickly lost its charm.

“What about building?” Dany tried to mention casually.

“What about it?” Jon glanced up.

 

They ended up off the coast, about an hour’s time away from the city. It was mostly flat land and by Jon’s face, she knew he was calculating all the ways in which her property could be breached, and she killed.

“Well there isn’t much here to call ugly,” he remarked. 

“I could have it built on and something livable be done within a few moons–”

“Why were we looking then?” Jon huffed.

“I needed you to convince me into staying closer, but you failed–”

“If I would have known then I wouldn't have put up such a fuss about the color of the tapestry in the second one we visited yesterday…” he frowned. “You are far if you stay here and it’ll be difficult to secure.”

Jon dropped his eye contact and looked away.

“But it could be secured...” Dany reasoned. “With a gate perhaps….” She inched closer to him. “Jon?”

He hummed, still not looking up.

“I am sure everything will be fine,” she dismissed. “I’ll even have Harlen.” _Wherever he was off to…_

“That is one boy,” Jon argued.

“And you sometimes?”

Jon caught her gaze and rolled his eyes after a moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But uhm, hey, if y'all don't mind giving me extra love this week... 
> 
> I would greatly appreciate it. I know because the chapters are so short, some of you may be waiting or not knowing what to comment, but I've had a particularly bad week job hunting and I'm feeling rather anxious, like my whole life is closing in on me–and very sad. Updating this story was literally the only thing I looked forward to, so...
> 
> I really do want to let you guys know how much I love and appreciate you guys reading and constantly supporting me; here, tumblr, twitter. I would never have believed him myself if I hadn't started writing fics. And I know I'm always angry in the GOT fandom, but you guys have generally, always been nice to me. I really can't thank you enough <3


	16. Mirrored Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza.

**C.16**

_**Mirrored Heart** _

Dany's POV

XX

Much to Jon’s displeasure, her compound was going to be one floor and held a substantial amount of land. Which of course, made it difficult to guard. 

Dany did not mind too much since it was secluded with both sand and grass, with a freshwater stream.

It would be quaint compared to the pyramid, but nonetheless a beautiful estate with its high smooth stone and clay walls, and flat roofs. 

Because Dany was having it built in such a small span of time, it was not as ornate as some of the places they had visited that she ultimately turned away from for being too near civilization. 

_*_

_“What are you two doing?” Dany peered around a pile of rubble where Harlen and Jon looked to be hiding and–_

_“Playing a game,” Harlen supplied easily until he realized it was **her** that was asking–then he grimaced._

_There were carved stones and a cup._

**_‘I am a street rat, my lady.’_ ** _She recalled Harlen stating._

_“You look like you are gambling…” Dany narrowed, not noticing Jon gazing at her._

_“ **You** gamble?” she eventually turned to Jon after scolding the boy. Her face was accusatory, but she really held no problem. It was just so un-Jon like that she made her suspicions known._

_He shrugged, “Apparently.”_

_“He cheats,” Harlen said pointedly._

_Jon reached for the stones, shook his fist thrice and threw. “You’re a terrible liar,” he added as he tossed Harlen the cup. “Stop fussing with your ear if you’re going to be dishonest.”_

_“Jon Snow, giving advice about being dishonorable,” Dany sniffed. “I must have died.”_

_“That isn’t funny,” he shot at her._

_She raised her brow._

_“Neither is waiting for you two idiots to help me unpack the wagon,” she added with a glare before leaving._

_“Sorry, my lady,” Harlen shuffled from behind her. “We will clean up.”_

_Jon did not clean up because when she made it onto the other side of the rubble, her back was against his front and his lips were to her neck._

_“That was not funny,” he repeated to her quietly. His voice was sad but he did not give her a moment to pause before gliding past her–to the carriage._

*

But she got to spend a lot of time adding details like a verandah with a stone table she covered with a feather bed and linens. Her intentions were to lay under the sun as her netted curtains kept bugs out.

*

_“You are blocking my sun, Jon Snow.” His shadow covered her._

_His shoulder had fully healed and he had taken to helping with construction. Dany figured he enjoyed hacking away at things all day, getting out all his anger… a lot of anger she was beginning to notice._

_It left him sweaty, and always shirtless and breathing hard by the late afternoon._

_“We are working inside and you’re…”_

_“Enjoying the sun,” Dany blinked, moving her legs to slightly jut him out of her way. “There is a flagon of wine over there, if you’d be so kind as to–”_

_And then he lowered himself on her, covering her with dirt._

_And she laughed. She laughed really hard as his body pressed against her, covering her with his perspiration and dust and–_

_“Jon!” she swatted away but he was too busy wiping his forehead against her arm. And she should have thought he smelled awful… well, he did… but she liked **his** awful._

_She never saw him glancing up to see if she was still laughing while she protested, but he did. And that was the only reason why he sat on top of her… looking arrogant, and calm, glistening in the sun with his wild curls pressed to his face._

_Dany followed the bead of sweat from his forehead–falling to his damp white tunic. She could see the necklace she gave him flickering red._

_Panic welled in her._

_She tugged at him, “Stay longer today.”_

_She must have hidden her fear well because he grinned at her while he reached for the flagon of wine–which he threw at her and her goblet of water–that he brought to his lips._

*

Obsidian had also found its way onto her property and it took everything in Jon not to inquire if she had people on Dragonstone sending it to her. She could read it in his posture and attitude as it was delivered.

_“How is Daario?” His voice was strained._

_“How should I know?”_

_“Because he is your commander, is he not?”_

_“Is he not in the city?”_

_Jon did not respond._

_Dany gritted her teeth as she took a deep breath. “Have you seen him?”_

_Silence._

_“What in the bloody hell is wrong with you?” she bit._

**_Danger. Fire. Darkness… It always suited him._ ** _“Nothing,” was all he said as his eyes dimmed._

*

She used the dragon glass as the material for the gates and used regular iron for furniture.

_*_

_“What instrument is that?” Dany asked Harlen, curiously, one evening as he sat on a stone in front of the fire she had built before supper._

_Much to Jon’s displeasure, she and her guard decided to camp on her property–wanting to finish her kitchens by the end of the fortnight._

_“A lute,” the boy supplied fondly strumming. “I know someone that plays better than me, but they also sing, play the harp, and even know the nakers…”_

_“Can you sing?” Dany asked ignoring Jon’s glower as he packed his sack. He was going back to the city because he never stayed the night._

_If Harlen knew Jon was livid, he pretended to be oblivious beautifully._

_“No, my lady…” the boy grimaced “Can you?”_

_She did not know. “I never really tried,” she commented while looking for a jar of honey to accompany the remainder of the milk she had from earlier in the day._

_“Would you like to–”_

_“No,” Dany looked down, hot with embarrassment as she felt Jon’s eyes bore into her. “But you can continue,” she waved to Harlen._

_“You like the harp more?” Jon asked quietly._

_She refused to look at him, but she nodded once before she lowered her lips to the flagon._

_He had not kissed her forehead that night, and Dany pretended it did not hurt her._

_She was supposed to hate him anyway._

*

Her home was an array of colors and spices, from an entire room dedicated to herbs for ailments, and seasonings for food, to thick jute rugs, straw baskets, patterned linens, and thick golden tasseled curtains that draped over her four-poster bed. Everywhere anyone stepped in her estate, they would smell lemons, salty ocean, and cinnamon.

*

_“Where are you going, Harlen?” The boy was clean, and his brown hair was tied neatly at his neck._

_He looked like a startled animal._

_“You–you, uh, told me I could be excused for the afternoon…” the boy played with his fingers awkwardly. His eyes darted everywhere but her own as his cheeks flushed._

_“I know that, but where is it that you are going?” she probed, frowning at his embarrassment._

_“Leave him be, Dany,” Jon tugged at her skirt, giving her a look of exasperation._

**_You are not the boy’s mother,_ ** _is what Jon silently said._

_She sat down after waving Harlen off and glared into the fire, ignoring Jon, and his smell of leather, and spice, and his stupid war-worn hand on her thigh._

_“Do you wish to stay a night?” she had asked him some time later._

_But Jon never stayed the night._

_She’d only hurt her own feelings by asking._

_“No, it is fine.”_

_She went to sleep shortly after that and awoke the next morning to a chipper Harlen laying out sweet milk and bread to break their fast with._

 

_“A little to the left, Harlen,” she said, tilting her head to the side. He’d brought her a tapestry and three paintings from the market._

_Of course she’d reprimanded him. When she decided to pay him, she did not believe that he would spend his gold on her._

_But his face had lit up when he saw her smile._

_She thought back to Kinvara with sadness, ‘all men either see a lover or a mother.’_

_“It’s still uneven.” Jon’s quiet voice made her jump._

_She whirled around to see his dark curls in complete disarray on his head as Harlen exclaimed, “Sir!”_

_“What?” Jon winced at the boy’s glower. Admittedly, they’ve been in the kitchens for hours trying to hang things and Harlen was getting rather annoyed. “It is!” Jon eventually argued, annoyedly removing his palm from her lower back and going to help hold up the other side of the tapestry._

*

Dany always claimed that she liked darkness whenever she could; it was her home–physically and metaphysically… but she kept oil lights lit by her entrance at night, and a pig and two goats that over time, both Harlen and Jon realized she would never actually butcher for food. 

*

It’d been a sennight since Jon returned, and when he did, it was with a scowl.

He had stayed with her the entire day until Harlen returned with the guards she’d chosen to take from the pyramids.

“Are you upset with him?”

 _Harlen?_ she thought. Why would she be upset with the boy?

Dany side-eyed Jon and noticed the curl of his lips and his deep stare.

 _Oh_. “Daario?”

Jon glanced away. 

“I am always mad at him,” she reluctantly confessed. But what she did not say, was that Daario was furious with her.

She’d left him and Kinvara the documents with her plans and told them to send her missives with any updates. It would be some time before she went back to Valyria.

Her dreams were not as visceral anymore. Her paranoia did not make her blood run cold. And her anger was fading. 

She wasn’t so sad… until Jon brought Daario up–because then she remembered.

“Why do you care?” Jon questioned darkly.

 _She didn’t_ , she lied to herself.

“Why are you jealous?” Dany snapped.

She never got to see his face because he got up to stoke the fire. 

*

Her compound was nearly complete. But a fortnight passed without seeing him again. Harlen had encountered him in the city and said he was fine. He was just in the market with that merchant woman that made her blood boil.

*

The night he returned, his eyes were dark. He did not touch her. 

She snapped.

_“What is your problem?”_

_“Nothing,” he said plainly._

_“Liar,” she spat. Her blood was rushing, and she saw red. “You haven’t been stopping by.”_

_She scolded herself for not sounding passive. But everything about her was no longer impassive–her hands were shaking as she watched his eyes narrow. A dark shroud hung around him… in him. Flames flickered in his eyes._

_She felt him pulling her without even touching her._

_“Why don’t you go to Meereen more?” His voice was like a violent caress._

_“Why move from the city to keep going to the city?” she retorted tartly._

_“Where is Daario?” he nearly growled._

_Dany hands balled up at her sides as her face fell again. “Why do you keep asking that?”_

_Silence._

_“The ravens are back.” His voice was low. “They are not being shot down.” Jon sounded distilled, like he was empty._

_Dany’s eyes went to the necklace around his neck. She could not tell what color it was because it was tucked into his black tunic. All she saw was the dark chain at the base of his throat._

_“Well I am not in Meereen,” she sniffed._

_“There are other people in Meereen, Dany!” Jon yelled._

_Dany blinked, taking a step back. If she did not, she would slap him._

_“Don't you care if they are safe?”_

_The merchant woman? He meant the merchant woman._

_“Don’t you ever get tired of playing at being the hero?” Dany asked lowly. She knew her voice sounded evil by the way Jon swallowed and backed away._

_She never gave him the chance to leave her though, because she turned from him._

He left that night and did not return for almost a moon.

*

“Can you open the bloody door?” 

Harlen must have let him past the gate. She could kill that boy.

It was, oddly, a month of peace. 

She bit back her dignity and sent a message to Kinvara, who was happy to have received anything from her. Dany supposed that felt good… to have someone who did not stay upset for long. Although Kinvara made her feel as if her last visit did not mean a thing, Dany knew things were changing. And she tried to stop her initial itch of suspicion that the other woman would take control, but it still came until the high priestess sent Melira, the Asshai’i witch, the one Dany _requested_ , back, to lay protection stones upon her property.

_“And where is your wild wolf?” Dany did not bother to ask how she knew what she knew. After all, the last time the red witch spoke of Jon, she knew his name too._

_“Here and there...” she supplied vaguely. “Why does it matter?” Dany narrowed._

_Melira giggled as she pushed around dirt, “I do not like to forget men that threaten me, your grace.”_

_“He’ll do more than threaten, so I’d be very careful,” Dany warned but the witch did nothing but give her another coy look._

_Gritting her teeth, Dany asked, “How is Valyria?”_

_“And Ser Daario swears you do not care,” the red witch grinned as she pointed her soil covered finger... “He is the only one you fool,” the woman rolled her eyes._

_“I think he just needs something to be upset about since you not returning his favor for years no longer holds validity.”_

_Dany almost smiled at her this time._

_“But it is going well, your grace… Many women are taking refuge and men come looking for work.”_

_“Good,” Dany nodded uncomfortably._

_“He will be back, you know,” the woman mused finally burying the last of the dark stones._

_“They always come back,” Dany mumbled._

She expected to hurt but she was more incensed than hurt. 

_At least there are no ravens above your home._

There were four more knocks before Dany took a deep breath and moved from her lounger. She placed down a book about irrigation systems and clenched her teeth.

When she opened the door, Jon only stared… _transfixed_. 

Dany glanced down. She should have put on a robe for she wore a thin gown that clung to her. It was encrusted with small stones that shone when she shifted on her feet… And the top of her breasts were round... a _nd exposed._

She’d had the dress imported from Yin three moons ago.

Dany rolled her eyes… he looked like he forgot what he was there for.

Jon glanced at the sky and rubbed his forehead.

At that moment, she slammed the door shut. She did not have time for him to ponder. If he had something to say, he should have thought about how to articulate it in the moon that he left her.

Dany slunk back into her home and locked the windows. 

More knocks sounded and for a moment, she thought about leaving him outside, but his banging was incessant.

Dany glanced at her book and bid her farewell to a peaceful afternoon and cursed Harlen again.

She went to her door and unlatched it.

Dany glanced at him up and down, testing his will power, but Jon neither moved nor stuttered, feigning more confidence than he probably had.

He asked if she was still upset at him.

Dany blinked.

She wanted to let out a cruel laugh, but her eyes fell to the glowing stone around his neck.

Gritting her teeth, “No,” she seethed before going to slam her entrance shut again.

The audacity irked her, _yes_ , but it was weeks and the fact that the necklace still gleamed infuriated her even more.

_He is unsafe._

Jon caught the door with his foot and made a face. They fought childishly over it until he yanked at the edge, releasing her hold.

Dany huffed and glared.

“I have a gift for you,” Jon said wryly. “It’s on the verandah.”

Sneering, she said, “I do not want it.”

“Daenerys-” he started.

She hushed him quickly. 

“Please… _I’m tryin’ to–_ I am sorry…” Jon started, his jaw clenched with bitter obstinacy. 

 _Pride…_ it would kill them. 

“I had to deal with–my problems,” he stumbled through his apology. “Didn’t need you suffering with me.”

She did not care what he had to deal with. She’d told him if he pushed her away–to not return. She meant it.

Dany dismissed him with a simple, “I understand.”

His face softened with… Dany did not know what, but he did not look… _well_.

The bags under his eyes were prominent and his hair was in disarray. Dany was sure that if Jon wasn’t so arrogant about his pretty features, he would have been unclean too. But Jon was, so he smelled like mint and leather, _and Jon._

Closing the door, she felt her stomach knot and her stupid curiosity lead her to her back doors. Dany peaked out from the curtains to see a golden harp next to her feather bed.

She had nothing but her pride. She always told herself she had nothing but pride, but… _he cared_. He _always_ bloody cared. Never when she needed him to, or the way she wanted him to, but he did. _And he listened._  

Staring at the instrument, she thought about her brother… his father. He knew the stories. Everyone knew the story about Rhaegar and his singing, and about that one time Lady Lyanna cried. 

Dany blinked again. She never needed to explain why she loved the harp. Jon knew. He always knew. There were only a handful of decent stories about her, _their,_ bloodline, and of course, one of them had to do with him, and his father.

Dany’s feet took her to her gate where she saw Jon getting ready to mount his horse. She hastened until she was in front of him, snatching the reins from his hands and re-tied them to the post.

“What the fuck do you want, Dany?” he sighed. 

She really wanted people to stop asking her that question.

She kissed him. 

She hadn’t kissed him in almost a decade. It had been almost two years since he arrived in Meereen. Was that enough?

He was fighting her. She could feel the strain, the pressure, and the pleasure as their teeth clinked together. He grunted as his hand went to the back of her neck.

“Tell me what the fuck you want,” he held her face to his. She did not know. And she couldn’t hold his stare.

He let out a frustrated growl and she slanted her lips over his again.

It was bruising and primal.

She could do this. She could handle this, she thought, pulling him back towards her home.

As soon as he slammed the lock on the gate shut, he turned back to her and lifted her from the back of her thighs and walked her inside.

Her lips were on his neck in an instant, sucking on the spot behind his ear that she remembered he liked. She wrapped her arms around him while he kicked her front door shut.

Before she could even look up, he had her against it. The shadows of his face were so close to her that she could almost taste him before he descended. She knew how he would kiss her. She’d known it since her dreams on the boat. He was never going to be soft again. Gone was the Jon with a nimble smile and rosy cheeks. The one that existed before her was dark and demanding as he slipped his tongue past her teeth. 

They fought and he won. And she could feel the burn of his beard irritating her skin, but she wanted it no other way.

Pulling him closer, she secured her legs around him and rocked her body against him until she felt a hiss against her lips and his hips jerk forward.

He was hard. 

Of course he was hard.

If Jon Snow was truly a glutton for self-punishment and repentance, then all he had for the last eight years was his hand or some wild northern girl that probably never used bath oils in her life. 

A nip at her puffy lip pulled her out of her thoughts with a gasp.

“I am not all here,” he warned against her mouth. His voice was deep and carnal and feral… _They shouldn’t_ , is what the hard grip at her side told her.

She was furious and he was mad. And the ache in her core was relentless.

Dany unbuckled his weapons belt and let it drop to the ground.

 _Well…_ “Whatever is left of you will be the parts that will take me.”

She felt him swallow as his face fell to her chest. Her head knocked against her door as his hands trailed their way up the soft fabric of her dress. When he brushed past one of her hardened nipples, her eyes fluttered closed until he quickly released his hold and lowered her.

The moment Jon put her on her feet and she glanced at his face, Dany knew he would rip her apart. His expression was brutal. She could see war, heartbreak, fear, betrayal, anger, and lust. She wondered if all of those were meant for her and her alone… 

She would not back away. 

And she could not for she was nearly trapped as he was rooted in his position in front of her.

She stole his gaze when her hand went to his chest. She tugged at the knot on his tunic before shoving him and kicking his belt under the table. He caught her right hand with his left and pulled her to a stop. The wicked part of her smiled as he turned around slowly, but for a quick moment, as his features got impossibly darker, she did not feel much like a dragon. She felt small.

Perhaps it was because she’d never contended with another dragon before. _A dragon raised by wolves._

Her brother had been weak. Years of begging and stealing had damaged him to insanity that felt too much like petulance. Jon was a beast, and Dany saw embers in his eyes. 

They were burning through her.

She pulled her arm, but he did not release it. She squinted but he only stared harder, “Tell me what you want–”

Dany gritted her teeth as his tone sent tremors to her cunt.

“Your cock inside of me–or else I would not have un-tied your shirt,” she jerked her hand free, letting the bracelet around her wrist fall to the floor.

Dany wished she’d heard it, but she was distracted as Jon stalked forward. 

The ends of her shimmering dress caught on the iron table that his weapons belt was under and sent her tumbling down. She did not know when he took hold of her again, but he fell along with her. 

Dany stared at the rip of her gown with affront, and then Jon with even more affront for falling so ungracefully on top of her… but then, his lips pecked at her cheek so lightly it tickled. 

That was as sweet as it was going to get, Dany knew as he smiled into her throat, “That is very… _sad_.”

He did not sound sad at all.

Dany glared at him until his tongue slipped past his lips and traced silkily down to her collarbone, leaving a trail of wetness that produced more and more gooseflesh with every second that passed by. 

“It was very unfortunate,” he mumbled, agreeing with himself. 

The words felt like kisses to her skin.

 _His ego,_ it miffed her.

As she pushed him to his knees, his eyebrows drew together in confusion. Dany needed him to stop talking so her hand went straight to his breeches where she untucked his tunic and tugged at the ties. Her mind left her when she slipped her hands past his small cloths and felt the soft velvet of his hard cock.

Wetness pooled between her legs. He was watching her stroke him. His eyes were searing into her skin, piercing through every wall she had tried to build up, trying to break her resolve but Dany removed her hand from his trousers. 

Jon let out a disappointed moan before she licked her palm.

His eyes went wide as she moistened her hand before placing it back and gave him a sharp tug. He grunted and doubled over. In that instant, his lips attacked hers with a mind-numbing pressure. 

Dany passed her thumb over his weeping tip, smoothing the beginnings of his seed over him. She did not think he could get harder; harder in her hand, harder on her lips, but it was a gradual intensity… one that sent chills along her body and prickled at her nerves.

Jon’s fingers went to her back and pulled at the ivory ribbon below her breast and found a bundle of laces that made him curse. Hunger coursed through him, for he ripped it with a harsh tug that made her arch and release her grasp on his length.

Her hands grabbed at his tunic, steadying herself as she whimpered against his lips. He pulled the straps of her gown down with no finesse and it was so undeniably Jon Snow. He wasn’t patient nor forgiving when he pulled the dress from her tits. And the kiss he bestowed upon them was heated. 

A low and yearning noise erupted from his throat and went to her core. She pushed into him with fervor. 

Before he could bury himself into her cleavage, Dany tugged his tunic off and threw it somewhere. His hands hiked her dress up so that he could wrap her legs around him.

She was warm and needy as he settled between her thighs. She wanted more. She needed more.

After kicking off her slippers, she flipped him onto his back and lifted the ruined gown over her head and waited for him to pause... And it came just as she expected.

The hands that gripped her hips over his throbbing cock stroked their way to the wound he had given her and stayed on it. 

“We match,” Dany said plainly, as her palms snaked their way to the mark above his heart.

She didn’t look into his eyes as she rolled her hips over him. She did not look into his eyes as she lowered her mouth to the bruise forming at the base of his throat. And she did not look back into his eyes when she bit at it.

She wanted it to sting, or bleed… perhaps even scar. And she did not want him to see the territorial glint pooling in her orbs while she did it… He would not be able to hide it the next time he left her. Everyone would see it and know that he belonged to somebody.

Dany wet her lips as her teeth raked down to his nipple. She bit that too and he jolted. She languidly licked down and around his uneven skin, tracing the outline of his wounds as his fingers twisted into her soft curls.

She moaned when she finally ended up at the thatch of dark hair that would lead her to a lovely spot of his anatomy. Dany gazed up. She peeled his breeches down, which coincidentally peeled away the layers of his resolve. 

His breath hitched and it was a song to her.

 _If I take him into my mouth, I could make him sing too,_ she thought. 

She had him. His eyes did not leave her as her tongue traced him. Jon bit back the moan she knew she could steal from him if she just put his tip past her swollen lips.

But she didn’t.

He could suffer.

She untangled his hands from her hair and lifted to shuck off his boots and pants before she removed her small cloths. She mounted him without hesitation, watching him disappear into her as her cunt opened for him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed as she sunk down.

It hurt. Not like a first time. But the feeling of something foreign entering her body after years stung and she let him know with the tight hold she had at his chest.

She felt full. She didn’t know she’d been empty for years until he was buried in her. Gasping, Dany swirled her hips, letting pleasure spike up her spine. 

Jon’s palms stroked her thighs as her nails dug into him. If it had pained him, Dany could not tell. 

His eyes had been hot before, but now they were just blazing... And when she rode him harder, she had to wonder if _he_ would have moved slower. _It does not matter now._ She wanted it to burn so she knew it was real and not in her head. She wanted to feel him tomorrow so that when he left, she knew that he’d been there. 

His palms found her hips as she picked up pace. When they cautioned her, her lips quirked. 

Jon’s eyes darkened as he realized that she was being purposefully depraved. His thumb was on her bud in an instant while his hips snapped up and met her thrust for thrust.

Her insides had been tightening before his hot mouth caressed her teat. So, when he flattened his tongue against her, she whined and threw her head back. 

She hated him.

Dany’s eyes rolled as Jon’s lips went to her neck and his arms slung around her waist. 

Pride. _Pride_. She did not want to give him the satisfaction, so she fought the coiling, grinding herself against him indignantly but he let out a chuckle. It was dark and gratifying as he took a hollow breath and traced his fingers to her jaw.

That was how she came the first time; with Jon’s hand at her chin, staring into her violet eyes so hard she saw herself in him. 

It felt like a crash. Something inside her curled so tightly it snapped, and her body quivered. A choked sob came from the back of her throat as he flipped them over. 

The second time she came, her body did not feel like hers. And she began to wonder if it was anymore… because it felt like Jon’s. She had no idea where she started and he ended, and what was going on as the friction built between her legs and noise drowned from her ears.

When she was on her back, he fucked her the way she thought he would. It was then Dany realized, he was letting her use him before–use him for her own pleasure… the way she _wanted_ him. Or at least thought she did… He stilled for her, caressed her, and took nothing for himself until this moment. This time he pounded into her in the way most natural to who he was now. And she wasn’t certain which she preferred more. She was not certain of anything anymore. 

His eyes were dim and daunting, simmering with years of neglect and lost love. He found a rhythm in her that made her toes curl.

As his head fell to her throat and his body covered hers, he began to take her apart. Lewd noises bounced off her walls and her own wetness covered her thighs. Each thrust was savage, and it hammered at everything she believed was real in the moment. Her mind blanked as she felt him thick inside her, reaming her open–she wondered how she could ever let anyone touch her again.

And then it was like he heard her mind. She could do nothing but keen under him as he fucked her raw. He would never let anyone or anything touch her again. 

He wretched a choked noise from her and she felt like nothing–weightless and empty… but he fucked her like she was everything and pulled things from her she did not know she had left.

Her nails rammed into him as he caressed down her body. They were such sweet touches for such a desperate pace.

“ _Harder_ ,” Dany gasped... and Jon paused before relentlessly moving in her; thrust, after thrust, after thrust, and she met every single one of them with a blinding passion. Years of rage and pent up frustration poured out of her as she clenched around him. He grunted and she knew he was getting close. 

His movements grew jerkier as he lifted her leg higher–and just when she thought he could not get deeper, a breath caught in her throat and she screamed. That was how she came the last time: her vision went white as she felt him moan deep into her throat. 

Her name fell from his lips in a tone that wrapped around her ribs and kept her warm as she felt him filling her. It was the last thing she noticed… not the gentle kiss below her ear, or the soft movement of him pushing a damp curl away from her face; Dany felt him filling her with his seed until it leaked out of her. 

After, falling asleep was easy, but no matter how whole she felt, nothing could stop the howl in her dreams that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the people that wished that I felt better, I really appreciated it. I was very down for a few days and some of you really helped me <3
> 
> Very scared about this smut being too rough but...
> 
> Would love positive comments.  
> -with love Angel <3
> 
> ETA: I am totally happy in answering questions if you want me to! I realized people were confused a few chapters ago about my authors note. I just meant that I want to refrain from posting what I intend in the authors notes because I know that when some people read, they like to figure out the core of the story on their own and reread and stuff and I don’t want to be disruptive! But if something is unclear for you, you can ask and I would love to discuss! Pls I love it. I have no problem. I write my stories with the intention of it being heavy and complex. I like to garden and throw poetry in here. Sometimes it’s easy to digest but most times, it’s better when read straight through because I write so far in advance. I literally just finished chapter 25 lmfao 😭


	17. home with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza.
> 
> should I apologize for the angst? nah. y'all should be used to it by now.
> 
> PREVIOUSLY ON COA: Dany moved out of the city. Jon helped build her new home which we call the Compound. Dany notices that Jon is acting differently because the ravens are appearing back on the pyramid and Daario is gone again. When Jon asks where Daario is, Dany is reluctant to answer. It's obvious that she's hiding something. That something is Valyria but Jon still doesn't know. Jon and Dany can't seem to stop fighting. They have angsty sex.  
> It also ended on a bit of a foreboding note.

**C.17**

_**home with you.** _

Dany's POV

XXI

A cry awoke Dany from her sleep.

She blinked slowly, her eyelashes fighting the deep desire to fall into her dreams again until she was shoved.

It was light, so taking a deep breath, she decided to ignore it… until she got kneed violently in her bum.

A scream echoed a moment after.

She sprang up.

The light blanket that they’d brought down off her lounger in the middle of the night tangled around her waist as she shakily reached for… _Jon’s_ weapons belt. _Jon!_

Glancing to her side, she saw him trembling. Her stomach twisted and she pushed the weapon aside before she tried to nudge him. 

He didn’t wake and his whimpers became groans of protest. 

Dany felt worry crawl down her back.

“ _Jon_ ,” she whispered, clutching the light sheet to her body as she poked him. “Jon Snow.”

Dany peered closer at the water collecting in his tear duct. His palms began gripping the other side of the blanket at his hips.

“Jon,” she pushed a little harder.

He grunted and loosened his grip before letting out a rough exhale.

Dany sighed as well, but that was before his arms began flailing aggressively.

“Jon Snow!” Dany shoved him and before she could make sense of what was going on, his hand closed around her neck. 

His eyes were like burning steel. There was no more lust or guilt, only a pit of obscurity; a void of emptiness. That thing that was feral inside of him was pinching at the base of her throat.

Gasping out his name, she clawed his hand, but he was too strong.

“ _Jon Snow_ ,” she wheezed, feeling her face turn pink from the lack of oxygen. 

She looked for purchase as the blanket fell from her naked body. “Jon, _please_.”

He blinked, then froze, and immediately released his grip as she crumbled onto the floor panting.

“D-Dany?” he stumbled.

She wished she flinched away, but she just stroked the base of her throat, her eyes watering at the stinging.

“ _Gods_ ,” Jon scrambled up.

Then there was a knocking at her door.

She had to give Harlen respect. His timing was impressive.

Her hands flailed at Jon to say something so the boy wouldn’t knock down the door.

It’d only been a month to have damages. But, Jon shook his head at her as if he wanted punishment and Dany let fury breach her features. She couldn't really speak, and she needed water. So, she waved her hand again because they only had seconds before Harlen would send a guard through the back.

Jon hardened and went to the entrance and Dany took that time to cough and bring herself together.

 _“Seven hells, Harlen, she’s naked… I had a night terror. We are fine._ ” Lie. 

She was fine. He was not.

After pulling herself to her feet, and lighting the red candle in her window, which let Harlen know she was safe, Dany gripped the sheet and tied it around her body before banging around, desperately looking for a goblet and some freshwater to quell the burning. 

 _Madness_ , she thought when terror did not overstimulate her. _I was born sick_ , her mind assaulted her. She should hate him. _There is something wrong with me._

_“Very well… just tell her to come speak to me when she is clothed, sir.”_

She could hear the slew of curses come out of Jon’s mouth as he shut her front door. 

Dany tiptoed into the arch to see him flinging on his tunic while she finished another glass of water. 

“I-I-I’m so sorry,” his eyes grew wet as he stared at her throat.

Tears fell down his cheek and Dany now understood why he never spent the night.

She did not say anything. She had nothing to stay and it would sound awful coming from her anyways.

Jon nodded and walked away.

Knitting her brows together, she followed after him with a strange feeling building in her gut.

_Fear. Abandonment. Shame._

He was gathering his things.

“Where is it that you are going?” her assessment was right, her voice sounded pitiful.

She went to stand in front of the door and Jon looked at her as if she was insane.

“Where am I going? The hell out of here. I almost killed you.” His voice was becoming frantic. “I swear to you it was not on-”

“What did you dream about?” Her curiosity piqued, wondering if they shared the same nightmares like they shared the rest of their suffering.

Jon paused, eyeing her with a panicked expression.

She tilted her head to the side, hoping that it would encourage him, but it did not. Jon just shook his head, glancing downwards.

Dany wondered if it was about her…

She buried the hurt.

“Night terrors are horrid things,” Dany offered blankly, gripping the sheet tighter. She had them too, he had to know. 

Jon just stared.

And she felt like nothing again. But he wasn’t fucking her. It did not feel good when he was not fucking her. 

He averted his gaze, and her stomach plummeted.

 _Bury the hurt,_ she told herself. 

Blinking thrice, Dany turned to walk to her kitchens to look for milk that she could sweeten. _That always helped._

“You should go to the bed-chamber,” she said, dismissing the idea of him leaving.

_Madness._

“I could have _killed_ -”

“Stop saying that word,” she snapped. Her vision was getting whiter and her breathing started falling from her control. 

Her hands began to shake.

“I should go home,” Jon mumbled.

_Home._

_Bury the hurt,_ she mentally repeated to herself.

“Very well,” Dany turned.

“Why don’t you hate me?”

She wanted to. She still wished to despise him, but he only showed her that no matter how decent a person could be, she was still destined for perpetual betrayal. Jon Snow was just another one, with the minor difference in that he was selfless.

“Because you already hate yourself and that’s good enough for me.” 

Most times deceit meant nothing to people. At least Jon Snow suffered.  

“Are you leaving or staying because I was going to make you sweet milk. I won’t bother if you leave…”

They held an exhausted gaze for what felt like ages until he hung his head in defeat.

“You are going to be left with a mark,” Jon hesitated before inching closer to her.

_What’s another one?_

He leaned and stroked the space underneath her chin… and despite herself, she closed her eyes at the small touch.

“I’ll wear a dress that wraps around my neck.”

*

Before Dany had even fully awakened, she knew Jon was missing from her bed-chamber. She could hear him outside with Harlen, drilling. And when she walked up to her window with sleepy eyes, she hoped the boy would have him smiling but there was nothing but danger and dispassion on Jon’s face.

She supposed that would be Jon’s expression from now on.

Harlen did not seem to mind, obviously making a crude joke, laughing at himself with his floppy hair in his face.

 _“Sir, you age more when you frown!_ ” Dany heard Harlen shout from across the lawn.

But Jon still looked young. He was still young… they both were.

*

“What is _that_?” Harlen touched the soft shimmery silk at her neck. Dany thought that he was going to be the only reprieve to the monotonous and gloomy days ahead… and then he saw the fading handprint at her throat. 

“Don’t touch me!” she recoiled and immediately regretted it.

The boy didn’t look like a boy anymore. His face fell and turned to an unfathomable seriousness.

“Who did that to you?”

Kinvara had been right again. _He was starting to care too much…_

“I pay you to not ask questions, Harlen.”

He gave one nod, but even the lowering of his head could not hide the sheer hurt that radiated off him.

She told the boy not to worry but his eyes watched Jon like a hawk. They still patrolled together, but Jon said that he was quiet. He knew the boy had figured out what had happened the first night they laid together again and that he would find out sooner or later what happened in the West too. 

Dany saw the pain and it felt hopeless. She was also starting to care _too_ much…

Jon’s nightmares got worse and she felt like she was suffocating. He always offered to leave but it did more damage than he thought. She wanted him to fight to stay. 

*

The days were lighter, and the sun always shone brighter, but nothing got better. 

Not even the boy who could find positivity in anything smiled.

“Harlen, may I speak with you?”

He nodded at once from lumbering wood. He was completing all of his duties before his upcoming day off.

His silence hurt too. 

“I apologize for how I handled the, _um_ , situation before–I was not sorted correctly that particular day,” Dany mumbled quietly, before sitting on the log in front of him.

“You owe me no explanation or apology, my lady.” The sheer remoteness of his tone made her flinch.

“But I do,” Dany persisted. “You were just trying to do your duty.”

They stared at each other for a moment, eyes searching the other. And then he nodded before turning back to his work.

“Wait!” she halted him. “I–you don’t have anything to say or any questions to ask anymore?”

It was sickening how weak she felt, almost begging the boy to look at her with even one ounce of the child-like enthusiasm he once held. Is this what she did… _was it her?_ Did she breed distrust and unhappiness?

“You do not pay me to ask questions, my lady,” he clipped.

And Dany saw red. “I said I was sorry.”

But she should have known that words were wind. Just saying sorry would never matter.  

The boy nodded again and moved to take another piece of wood before she shouted at him, “Harlen!”

His eyes flashed quickly to the compound. 

Jon was probably watching from her windows.

And they both knew Jon would kill him if he ever stepped one toe out of line.

“I was in the market recently. The merchant he speaks to–her name is Melila. She has one son, Mikloz. The boy’s father is not recorded. She has a friend–Ola. They have to be Old Ghiscari or Asshai’i. Perhaps ancestors in Volantis. They don't know much about him either. He’s from the West, a man of war someone overheard him say to the merchant woman… because she would not answer any of _my_ questions,” Harlen pursed his lips. “His name is Jon Snow. Snow is a bastard's name by Westerosi customs. Snow… in the north–where there is apparently cold, cruelty, and _bloody_ snow. Now, what would a man like that be doing in Essos?”

Dany had to give the boy credit. She had not one idea that he had been snooping or how fast he could gather all this information.

“...In Essos conveniently right before the attacks which I’m almost certain came from the West… Was the road to Asshai supposed to be coincidental? No. I’m not an idiot. Commander Naharis hates him… Who is Jon Snow?” 

Rhetorical. 

“He has to be running from something or searching for something. I am under no illusion, my lady. You are powerful. Is he using you? Was he looking for you? Or is he hiding?”

Perhaps all three, Dany thought.

Still rhetorical.

“Ask me what you really wish to know, Harlen.”

“Who are you?”

“You know that answer.”

“Why are you here? Hiding from the city, or not West, like all the tales said,” Harlen bit.

“I know you heard _all_ the tales.”

“Most Valyrians have done worse than what you’ve done,” the boy sniffed.

Dany almost smiled if it wasn’t so sad, “The West is not assimilated to neither Essosi nor Targaryen or Valyrian culture any longer. _I was supposed to be different._ ”

“Was he the one?”

When Dany did not respond, the boy rolled his eyes and scoffed but said with a note of finality, “I cannot protect you if the people you let in are the ones who can do the most damage.”

*

Jon never spoke, only stared blankly most of the time.

Dany chuckled to herself at the irony. For years she had wished the relentless chatter around her would cease, and now that it has, she just yearned for the silence not to scream so loudly.

XXII

He was outside stacking wood with one of her men when she called him inside for spiced tea after pouring hot water over the leaves. 

Dany put the drinks on a platter with sweet bread and grabbed a few linens while Jon stood aimlessly until she motioned toward the veranda.

Mutedly, he lit the torches while she spread the fabrics out and threw down some feather pillows.

When Jon sat, he was careful to give her space, but Dany leaned over the tray and pushed the loose curls that were sticking to him out of his face.

Her hand lingered.

He grabbed it for a moment, smoothing his rough thumb over her palm before he pressed his lips to it lightly.

Jon never took honey, and always used sugar cubes that he would sometimes pop into his mouth and roll around his tongue until it dissolved. Dany was not too sure that he cared for the sweetness of it as much as he seemed to enjoy the crunch beneath his teeth or the small grains massaging his lips.

This, of course, made his lips softer. And she knew because she would steal a kiss that would make him grunt and frown. But she did it anyway. It wasn’t like he ever tried to pull away or stop her.

He had always had a handsome face and a comely demeanor, but he was all sharp; sharp eyes, sharp jaw. Even the bow of his pout was severe. She could not believe she did not see it before. It was all Targaryen. Northerners were not so pretty.

And yet, Dany found that his irises were dimming again. Not just dimming in the moment, but dimming because of life in general. She could feel all of the battles he fought on his skin for they were stitched on his flesh with needles and carved with knives. She could have sworn she smelled the blood as well.

There was obviously ice in his veins because he tasted cold when she would press her lips to his.

He looked so tired Dany almost felt bad for him. She had thought herself to be miserable but in comparison, no matter how many voices she heard in her mind, she was better off. 

Dany wondered if she had truly been the stronger one.

“What other things did you do at the Wall for seven years?” Dany picked up her bowl and tested the hot liquid to see if it was to her liking before she added honey.

Jon was quiet as he glanced up at the sky.

It was dark and cloudless, but the stars shone.

She was surprised when he actually answered.

“Petitioned for land for the free folk,” he mumbled, glancing down, toying with the ends of his golden tunic. “They settled in Mole’s Town, The Gift, the castles at the Wall, and the true north...”

Dany furrowed her brows. _The true north?_

“The ones in the ice wasteland trade labor, craftsmanship, and training for cattle and crops south of the Wall,” he informed her. _The true north is what he called the land beyond the Wall._  

“Trade is essential,” he turned to her finally with a little less obscurity in his expression. “The gates stay open unless there is someone manning the castle…”

Swallowing roughly, Dany could see the power in his eyes; the way it flickered as he spoke about his people. He could try to deny it, but he was a true leader, king’s blood and all.

When she had first arisen from her death and found out Jon Snow’s fate, although he should have been beheaded, Dany had been glad that the man that slayed her had been exiled. But looking at him now, she could see clearly; Jon was a threat. He was loved and he was a Targaryen. 

Surely, after Grey Worm had gone to Naath, they could have pardoned him and allowed him to claim his birthright. Tyrion Lannister would have served beneath him. It would solve all of the northern independence issues that Sansa Stark claimed there to be, since Brandon Stark did not claim his father’s name.

Jaime Lannister had done the same and had been given a gold cloak, but instead, they banished Jon.

Sending him to the cold wasteland ensured that he’d father no children and have no kin… only the friends he made along the way. The Targaryen dynasty would be dead. And it would look like justice, or even kindness since a throne was never what Jon Snow thought he would ever get or even wanted after being slain himself.

Dany took a deep breath to quell the anger in her belly as well as the disgust rising in her throat.

 _He was meant to be a king_. It was something the voice in the back of her head has always whispered to her since the day he had arrived at Dragonstone. He exuded authority and commanded respect. Everywhere he went, people either despised him or adored him, and the former usually existed because of the good he meant.

“ _I told you,_ I stayed at Castle Black.”

Snapping her head to him, “Yes, where you were killed… You could not go to another one?”

Jon shrugged, “Possibly Shadow Tower but–”

“You wished to suffer,” Dany finished, knowing him.

“Perhaps.” 

His hand found a cube of sugar and dropped two into his drink instead of putting them into his mouth, swirled it around, and then put the bowl to his lips.

*

“He’ll be back, my lady,” Harlen commented from his post while she watched Jon saddle up his horse to bring his stuff here.

It made little to no sense for him to leave all his things in the city when he spent most of his time with her anyway. It was a waste of coffers.

“You are leaving on your breaks nowadays… I’ve noticed.” She wondered if she was so miserable that Harlen couldn’t even stay on his time off–to sleep in and wake up and eat sweets with her.

The boy blanched. “I-I-just have some things, _people_ , I look after is all.”

She couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth. He did not seem like he was telling a nervous lie. He had more tact than that as well. He seemed embarrassed. 

She pondered if he might’ve fathered a bastard or something.

XXIII

When Jon returned. Harlen left. 

Dany wondered if that was how it would be now.

“Will you ever trust _me_ like you used to?” Dany asked as she and Jon laid in bed.

It was night. Jon had been gone for four days and came back with cropped hair. And then Harlen left on _Danger_ , a strong dark stallion right after sunset.

Jon rarely spoke still. And she was almost certain that some of his nightmares were about her with the way he glanced at the door in desperation to breathe the air not consumed by her smell.

A monster loomed in her, and though Jon Snow had always been good with beasts, she was just not one he could ever control.

He knew that too.

“Ask me in a couple of years,” he said quietly as he rolled over, draping her arm around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay. I really didn't want to post this because I know you guys won't like it but I promised twitter that I would do it today lol (yea that app sucked me back in).. plus I've been writing howl, so pray for the update.
> 
> Jon's mental health y'all. I really love him and have been building up to this moment to show Dany what his nights still truly look like. It was one of the first chapters I wrote for this story. And I really love the comparison of how him and her view themselves and each other... like Dany thinks he looks young but Jon feels old. Dany thinks Jon is looking for an escape but is he?
> 
> Doesn't Harlen just seem like he's caught in between a divorce and doesn't know what the truth is or what side he wants to be on? lmao
> 
> ALSO, I listened to home with you by fka twigs when I wrote this. 
> 
> AND, I love nice comments-I promise just a heart will suffice with a sad writer like myself. 
> 
> PS: I hope you guys are doing well during this quarantine, stay safe and mindful. Lots of love -Angel <3


	18. Just like the Weather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza.
> 
> Here is my monthly installment of angst for my pleasure and my pleasure alone :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy too though <3

**C.18**

**_Just like the Weather_ **

Dany's POV

XXIV

“I was going to give these to you, but I did not wish for Daario to see you receive them in case–” Dany started.

Her commander returned to Meereen, according to Harlen, so Dany went to speak with him despite her stupid pride.

It turned out, most of the birds that had been in the city were there because they were carrying messages.

“He still does not like me,” Jon remarked, staring at the letters she placed on a stand in her kitchens.

It had been years now since he first arrived but...

“No,” Dany agreed, taking in a deep breath as Jon rounded the table–grabbing the messages. “He does not.” 

Jon had started speaking when Harlen started smiling again. And that was nice, she supposed as her hands did anxious motions, watching him sift through the ravens and only take the one with the Baratheon sigil.

Walking to the kitchen hearth, he tossed the rest in making her gasp his name. “Someone could be ill, don’t you care?” 

She eyed him nervously. Of course, she didn't actually care if anyone was sick but, t _hey’ll come here,_ she thought immediately. _They will send more men like before._

Jon glanced up, side-eyeing her, “No.” 

“ _But_ if there is anything important, I’ll find out in this one…”  He lifted the parchment with gold wax. 

Jon blinked a few times before looking uncertain and offering the letter, “Do you want to read it?”

Dany wondered if he was testing her.

“No.” And she meant it. The less she knew through him made any decisions she might have to make against the West guiltless _if the time ever came._

Jon frowned, opened it, and informed her of its continents anyway.

“Gendry has wed.”

Dany made a face.

 _To whom?_ If Sansa Stark was wise, she’d do good to unite the North and South in a union. 

Dany hoped the man did better, though.

“To some lass from… _Volantis_.” 

 _Volantis?_ She narrowed her eyes. 

Jon looked confused. “ _Tula_ , her name is.”

She remembered Kinvara mentioning that some people were gathering from the city to help after the war, but she never assumed that a man like Gendry Baratheon would do such a thing. It was far from politically wise while he was under the reign of the Stark boy.

_Yara did say that he was a bit rebellious…_

“Odd,” Jon resigned, folding the note up and sticking it into a pocket.

“Not what you expected?”

He looked her up and down as uncertainty rolled off her body in waves as he moved closer.

“No,” Jon responded blankly, twirling a pale blue strand of her hair between his fingers. "Not at all."

*

A thump sounded behind, making Dany quickly leap from Jon’s lap.

He groaned in annoyance as Harlen smiled wickedly. “Imported from Yin!”

The package was covered in sheer paper, tied with a bow. In it was a pretty blue iridescent shimmer silk with pleats.

It looked lovely… and expensive.

“Harlen…”

“I got a deal!” the boy defended. “Sir, don’t you think it is nice?”

“Harlen, do not speak to me in the current moment,” Jon said quietly as he leaned back. His cock was hard.

Everyone in the room knew it too.

Harlen did not care a bit either, going on about how nice the fabric felt until Jon grunted and left.

“Why do you look to displease him so?”

“Because he obviously has _something_ he wants to say to me and is too much of a coward to mouth off,” Harlen dismissed.

They had been like this for nearly two moons.

XXV

Dany awoke alone many nights later with a message beside her pillow that said that he was still in her compound… and that he could not sleep. He'd started doing that after she ripped through the complex one evening looking for him, afraid that he'd left her or gotten stolen away, only for him to have been in one of her guard's watchtower discussing a different set of patrols.

Despite her tiredness, she found herself slipping her feet into soft sandals before she decided to walk the dark corridors to find him. 

Jon was not in his usual places; with her security, the kitchen, or the knit hammock gazing at the moon. Instead, she found him in a study…not her personal one where she kept the bare minimum of maps and drawings of the castle currently being built on her motherland, but in a small chamber off the library, gazing at a fire with an open box of missives at his feet.

She was not certain who gathered the ravens and placed them in the chest labeled ‘ _northern brute_...’ _No_ , she knew it was Daario, and he had probably given it to Stassin to give to them since the dark blue-haired man was the only guard of hers that Daario liked… 

But the box was cursed. Not really, but that was what it felt like to her because Jon was miserable and did not unbolt it for days. 

It taunted her for the first two nights with its place on the side table by her door until she yelled at him to open it. He ignored her. And when she awoke the next morning, it was no longer where it had previously been. Dany had assumed that he had handled it, but she found it on the verandah the next night when they could not sleep and decided to take tea. She glared at it and he must have moved it again.

It was finally ajar, but from her view by the door, the missives still lied in the box untouched.

“More?” she asked softly though she already knew the answer.

He did not look at her.

Just like the weather, he grew colder... _but_ toward his family. She supposed there was a part of him that hoped it made her feel better, but the cold did not comfort her.

“Maybe you should just open them to see what they want…” Dany offered with a deep bitterness she prayed her voice did not deceive.

“No.” He was firm.

“Maybe they just care…”

“I don’t care if they care,” Jon snapped, their eyes finally connecting. “I want to be left alone.”

She should have walked away from him. 

“It sounds like you care,” Dany retorted smoothly, leaning against the door frame.

He sighed, “No, I don’t, Dany.”

Shaking his head, Jon stood, stepping away from the box and towards a table with a pitcher of water or perhaps sweet wine.

When he hesitated on taking a glass, Dany figured it was spirits. 

“I don’t care,” he repeated, continuing, but not pouring the liquid. “...Because it’s too late for them to fucking care.”

Jon's hands were gripping the table so hard Dany thought he might break it. 

“I needed them to care a decade ago. I needed Sansa and Arya to care when I brought you home. I needed Sam to care when I asked him to trust me. I needed Tyrion to care before he–I needed them to care about me before I became _this_.”

_This? A kinslayer, infuriated, sad, and subjected to lasting misery from events out of his control?_

When he turned around, Dany saw that his eyes were pink. “I can't even love you right because I hate myself,” he glanced away.

 _Oh._ “Jon-”

“I needed Bran to care before you lost your dragon and best friend.”

She turned away, holding up her hand for him to stop. Stop talking about them, her, him, the past… _everything_. The silence was better than the images he was putting in her mind of Missandei, a woman who had done nothing bad at any moment in her life. She had been pure and taken from the world to hurt her. Her son had been slaughtered as if he was not a creature of wonder. He protected the world and they killed him as if he meant nothing. 

Jon started moving towards her, his hand rubbing his forehead and his voice weak, “I needed Bran to care before I marched my men south and they attempted to rape women in the street right before my eyes…the Three-Eyed Raven…the crone that can see all that was, _is_ , and will be, but did not know that millions would die.”

Standing in front of her, Jon’s eyes bore into hers. And it took her a moment to process what he was saying. As Dany held his gaze, she could see the truth behind his irises–this realization she was not sure he uttered to anyone. It was a dark and grim admittance that perhaps some of his family was an evil he could not accept. He knew that something was wrong, and if he allowed himself to care, he would have to act.

She knew him.

“You are not an idiot, are you?”

“No, Dany.”

“And you still love them…” 

“As I love you,” his words were honest and haunting.

“You think that they will come here, don’t you?”

Jon did not answer, nor did he look away. 

His eyes held nothing that she could read, but Dany now knew three things for certain; he was a lot smarter than he let on, which was what made him dangerous, and he would eventually have to go back.

*

The way her nausea crept up her spine–jerked her to her feet and to the nearest place behind a tree to retch out the contents of her stomach. _Eggs and oat_ s–well, she'd never eat that again anytime soon.

“My lady!”

Harlen had been the first to reach her.

“Are you–”

Jon must have shoved the boy away because Jon was the one who pulled back her hair as she gagged again. _Gods, it was so embarrassing._

“Go get her water,” he mumbled Harlen.

“Is it–” _Poison_? no. “Are you ill?”

 _Obviously_. She tried to push him away as she gagged again but he didn’t leave, still smoothing, her now white, strands of hair from her face.

By the time Harlen came back with water, Jon had her in his arms.

She protested vehemently, wanting to continue to watch them play whatever stupid game they had been playing on her front lawn but Jon ignored her and put her to rest.

XXVI

Something was changing between them again.

And she felt sick.

As Jon kept getting flooded with messages from the West, she began to feel reamed open and vulnerable. 

She still could not utter a word of Valyria to him.

“There is no redemption for me, is there?” Dany asked quietly, her voice as little as his arms made her feel.

They both knew the answer was _no,_ but Jon only pulled her closer.

She was still tired despite sleeping all day.

“Do you allow me to hold you now because you trust me or because you still want to die and wouldn’t mind if I killed you?”

Silence followed for a few moments as she processed the difficult nature of the question.

Dany swallowed in hesitation, “Unfortunately, I am not too certain,” she settled.

While she hoped that there would come a time where they could both see each other and see more good than bad, what Dany did not realize was that Jon stayed with her. They stayed with each other. They already did.

Dany could have sworn as she fell asleep that she heard him whisper, _“I feel there is little redemption for me as well.”_

*

“Haven’t seen you for a while,” Daario bit his nails as he sat lazily on a chair, with his legs resting on the stone table covered in parchment. He'd gone back to Valyria again.

Dany glanced over the red marks and new maps she had not seen.

“How are you?” Daario glanced at her.

“Well,” she replied, playing with her fingers.

Jon Snow was outside moments ago when she looked over the pyramid’s balcony, but she knew he would be going into the market with Harlen. 

Her commander hummed.

“Be careful,” Dany warned him. “You were not here for some time and there are–” She was speaking about the West.

“A lot more messages with crown and raven markings… Is he aware?” Daario eyed her suspiciously.

They were unopened, and Dany understood the look.

He thought her to be hiding them, but she was not that crazy.

“Of course, you idiot,” she snapped, feeling dizzy.

Daario gave her a once over, putting his feet down, straightening his back as she rubbed her head and gripped the table for support.

“So why are there so many and why are they not read?” His voice was indecipherable.

Dany worried.

“I do not know, Daario. He just looks at them and leaves them where I put them,” she bit while in discomfort.

“Why are you in pain, Daenerys?”

She glanced up and shrugged.

“Is it him?”

Dany laughed. “All my headaches come from men,” she said bitterly. 

Daario scoffed as he offered her wine… she declined.

They were not on their best terms either.

Even as they spoke face-to-face, there was indignation, but he still cared. He always cared too. When they fought, he still gave her what she wanted and required. When he was angry, he still responded to her. And when he was sad and feeling particularly guilty for instigating their continuous arguments, he would send a guard with a single flower and a box of sweets from the market. She would then send it back, half-eaten, consuming her favorites and making sure to leave his preferred in response as her thanks. But the latter was rare because they were petty.

“How is it coming along?” she nodded towards the scrolls, maps, and black rocks.

“ _It’s coming along_ ,” Daario mimicked and stood. “The witch gets under my skin-”

Kinvara got under everyone’s skin but Dany knew that a pretty face was far less exasperating than he let on so she ignored him.

“The capital buildings are _entirely_ completed and being used… and the pit is leveled.”

Dany snapped her head up but it was too quick. She felt bile begin to crawl her throat.

She took a deep breath before glancing at Daario again, who was regarding her extensively.

“Already?” she inquired further, disregarding his looks while attempting to keep composure.

“Awaiting your inspection,” her commander took a few steps to her, and for the first time in a long time, she did not move back. 

Shock drifted across his face, but he swiftly covered it.

“The main gate is complete-”

“Be careful,” Dany interrupted him. “I do not want _them_ to know.”

“Have you told him yet?”

“No.”

“And why is that?” Daario’s eyes narrowed, mockingly. “Do _we_ not trust him?”

“He does not fully trust _me_.”

Daario rolled his eyes and turned away from her.

“Kinvara has the place protected with obscene quantities of odd rocks while the Greyjoys inconspicuously patrol the perimeter.”

“His brother can turn into a bird,” Dany stated, slowly, to his back.

“There are no krakens on their ship or clothes. They just look like pirates,” her commander tossed a look over his shoulder. “Do I look like an idiot?”

Biting her lip, Dany tried not to let the smile tugging at her cheeks show before the growl of her stomach forced her to pop a cube of cheese into her mouth.

“Do not fucking answer that.”

Laughter bubbled over at his annoyance.

He turned back abruptly.

“You are acting so peculiar and I do have to say, this worries me more than your sadness,” Daario frowned.

Her grin widened as her eyes glinted.

“You are scaring me, actually,” he commented.

She arched her brow.

“You are an infuriating woman, you understand that, don’t you?”

Blinking, she let her cheeks fall only slightly, still amused but wanting to work before Jon would come to take her home.

XXVII

“You are being particularly irritating this week,” Jon commented, dryly, after returning from the pyramids.

He was playing with the chain she had given him. It wasn’t red _currently_.

Dany rolled her eyes… It was not her fault that he decided to wallow while she was having a good day. He could have had one as well if he did not allow Daario to bait him.

Jon remained despondent, but the more time passed after they laid together, the bolder he’d gotten. 

She had met him in the market earlier with her commander guarding her because Jon did not return to pyramids by the time she was finished, and she was impatient. 

She’d just wanted to be home after another missive flew in.

He had not been pleased to see Daario’s hand on her shoulder, guiding her. He had looked especially irked when Daario tucked a blue rose in her flowing blue hair, nodding before leaving her with no acknowledgment to him.

She should have told Daario to behave, for something wild loomed within Jon Snow. And while Dany wished to snap at him, and inform him that she was not his property, the possessiveness and jealousy in his eyes made her stomach flutter.

Her commander was not intimidated by him, but he should have been more concerned than he was. 

Daario might be taller, but Jon Snow was stronger, and he was aggravated. 

He had said nothing their entire ride home…but Jon usually said little anyway she supposed.

Dany now laughed contemptuously at his seated form in a rocking chair across from her bed. 

 _Your silence was annoying_ , she wanted to mock him, but she only did so in her head.

She had grown accustomed to pulling him out of his hollow misery to erase her own. 

While she thought she was clever, he swore that she was exasperating. And perhaps he was right... but she didn't care. She would still read him incredibly boring stories until he fell asleep, then wake him and ask why he was tired. And she would still read him fantastic stories until it got interesting, then stop and suck his cock before he had time to protest. It should have been an honor really. She was rather good at sucking him. And he should have also felt incredibly blessed to be teased.

She even wore her prettiest silk dresses just for him... And although she would not tell him, she prayed that he would feel particularly brave and attempt to rip them off her.

Dany could admit to herself that she was bratty, petty, and stubborn most days, but Jon had even more pride than her and carried nothing but grimness and deeper resentment than she ever had. Playing with the darkness inside of them both, put them on the same level at least. They were both beasts, different, but one in kind. They could not seem to get themselves out of regret and grief yet, not without _shifting_ , and sometimes it felt as if they were falling off the edge of a cliff of their demons… so Dany decided they would fall together.

“Just,” Jon gritted his teeth. “ _Just_ come here.”

“No,” she projected the indifference he expected from her.

He rubbed his forehead and irritation broke across his face as she sat on the edge of her bed and began to pull herself to the top.

“What is it that you want from me today?!” he snapped.

“Obviously something you have not wished to give,” she bit, dragging her arse back on her ivory satin sheets. Jon didn't like them because he felt like he was slipping off the bed, but they were good to her curls, so he had just had to deal. _However_ , she would gladly change the damned sheets if he would stop being so quiet, skittish, and aloof. It was making her nervous and nauseous, especially currently. She wanted to feel certain and the desire to feel safe was growing stronger than she wanted for a notion so unrealistic.

“Perhaps if you elaborate, I would be more inclined to consider.”

 _Those words are too big for you_ , her mind sneered. But she didn’t say anything–she just rolled her eyes. And it was with such testiness that Dany missed when he pounced at her, grabbing her ankle and dragging her back down. Even as she kicked, her struggle did nothing to him. It was with so much ease that she huffed… and then his hands slid up her thighs until they reached her sides, raising her body and pressing it closer to him.

"What do you want?" he gruffed out a little bit softer and her momentary annoyance faded too quickly for her liking.

She, presently, hated the question less because she was starting to form a clearer response. While it was still a little fuzzy in her head–after three years, when she saw him, everything became more comprehensible.

 _Him_. That was her answer. In reality, it made little sense but so did most things in her life. Nothing made sense. She was Daenerys Targaryen. She did was generations could not, and she'd, absolved–perhaps, what most should never.

Despite his sheer determination and ferocity, there was hesitance in every action from the moment his lips were on hers to him pushing the straps of her sheer gown off her shoulders. His hands were rough, but his touches were light as he delicately brushed the dress from her body. Following every movement with his mouth, he traveled along her body leaving red beard marks everywhere. He pushed her on her back as he went to her thighs and nibbled his way between her legs.

The hotness of his mouth made her ache and Dany could feel herself dampen as he hooked his fingers on her small cloths and tugged them off.

He kissed her ankles, the wetness of his lips tickling the skin there before he descended between her legs again. He parted her moistened flesh and stroked with his thumb until he heard her breath hitch. Jon flicked his tongue over her bud, and she tugged on his raven curls. He pressed one finger into her, and then two, and then thrust until he found the spot that forced a whimper out of her.

She wanted him, more of him. “ _Jon_.” She wanted anything from him that she could get.

“ _Jon_ ,” she whined again because he loved it when she said his name breathlessly and she loved when his eyes would ooze carnal lust… just as they did at this moment when he looked up from between her thighs. Her cunt throbbed as his irises went pitch black–and not once did his tongue stop massaging her soaking folds.

Their gazes stayed connected until Dany felt him suck. Then she threw her head back and moaned his name once more. She was close. She could feel the tightening in her stomach that needed to break.

“ _Tell me what you want_ ,” she felt him beseech.

 _MORE_ , her mind yelled. He’d been being soft with her in recent days… until she purposely antagonized him. Then, he would become unhinged. And that was the Jon Snow Dany preferred. The one that was a bit wild and raw. It was his fault really. He should not have fucked her the way he had. It was like his body was on fire and she loved to burn. Dany liked a bit of tenderness, _but just a bit_. She wanted to bruise. She wanted to feel him when he wasn’t with her.

If their fucking drove them mad with lust, then so bet it. She wished to leave marks all over his body, easy for everyone to see that he was her hers and not theirs. _Not anymore._ Jon Snow was hers. He belonged to her, and the _best_ parts of her were his. She hoped he knew that. And she desired to bare his marks all over her that was not just the gaping wound below her heart.

Most nights one of them ended up screaming, so Dany preferred it to be in hunger for each other.

She dragged him up and watched a slow smile form at his cheeks, making her insides flutter and her heart pound in her ears. He was so pretty. And he was kind. And he might really, truly, love her. She should have always known that her walls would be stripped down and seared to ashes by his touch. 

His cock throbbed in his breeches against her belly that was _already_ just starting to protrude. And he noticed because she barely had any fat on her bones, but he did not say a thing other than a remark that her tits were getting bigger.

Ignoring the brief flicker of hesitation and fear in her eyes, Jon brought his finger to her lips, “Do you see how good you taste?”

Never leaving his stare, Dany smoothed her tongue over his digits before taking them fully in her mouth the same way she does with his cock. She let him feel the wetness of her tongue and fleshy parts of her mouth as she sucked him deeper. Hunger twitched on his face and she could feel his thumb caress the hollows of her cheeks.

Jon grunted as she lowered her palms past his pants and into his small cloths to the wet tip of his member where she massaged him at a torturous pace until a growl sounded at the base of his throat.

A burning need was prevalent as he replaced his fingers with his mouth. Jon traced the bow of her lips with his tongue before pushing her back and taking off his clothes. He never stopped watching her slip higher on the bed and she quirked her head to the side, watching him watch her naked body open for him.

Dany let her eyes journey down his form. She knew every scar and muscle. She had them memorized and her mouth watered when she got to his hardened length. It was engorged and wet and she could almost taste the saltiness of him on her tongue. Cocks were supposed to be ugly, but just like every other part of him, it was pretty too. And it was one of her favorite parts of him.

“You shouldn’t stare.”

She almost scoffed if not for how much she was salivating. _He_ shouldn’t fucking stare either, but those words never left her mouth because she couldn’t speak. Her cunt was pounding. He had no right to make her feel this way. _Gods_ , he was too good. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair.

“It’s rude,” he added, and Dany wanted to scream because he wasn’t moving. The ache inside her turned into a hard pulse. And he must have noticed the frustration blossoming on her face because he inched to her, crawling on the bed. As soon as he was in reach, she didn’t even give him a moment to situate himself–she closed her eyes and slipped his length inside, needing the feeling of his stiffness filling her up.

Jon let out a long groan, his head falling into her neck. She was throbbing and soaking. He probably barely felt any resistance and nothing but the sweet suction of her. Dany placed her hands on his backside, urging him deeper so that she could really swallow him whole. She arched into him. She _needed_ more.

And he was not moving.

She felt him smile into her throat as he kissed her there.

Dany gritted her teeth as she felt his hands barricade her body. He was teasing her.

Her blood was hot as she squirmed beneath him, “Are you going to fuck me or be useless and I’ll just have to touch myself.” 

Feeling his jaw clench, she opened her eyes to see his pupils blown. He looked her up and down and she was sure her skin was blotchy and now that she thought about it, she could detect a faint bit of sweat at her forehead. But before she could blink and snap at him again, he lifted her leg and gave one sharp thrust.

Dany gasped and gripped on to his arms as he started to pound into her. She could feel her own wetness soaking her thighs and hear nothing but crude noises echo off the walls. She could feel a beautiful sting that made her toes curl into his calves as he moved faster. He was relentless and her body felt like it was vibrating with pleasure.

When his thrusts got harder and more deliberate, Dany thought her insides were aflame. He bit at his new favorite part of her, the underside of her chin as his palms caressed her breasts. Her body spasmed up when he lowered his face to them and graze over one of her nipples with his teeth.

His name caught in her throat and he found the spot inside of her that he’d been aiming for. And then her vision went white.

Nearly four moons had passed since they started laying together…  

Until this moment, when he rolled off her, any thoughts that she did not drag from him, he did not offer her. He always faltered and then covered it up with a kiss to her lips or a kiss to her cunt.

“ _Dany-”_

She shifted, bracing herself with impenetrability despite the stickiness of him oozing out of her and coating her inner thighs.

“Yes,” she stretched and arched her back against her featherbed.

“I have a question-”

“ _Yes_ ,” she answered without allowing him to finish, feeling his eyes on her lower belly.

Although he only looked there, she felt him all over.

“I haven’t yet asked,” Jon’s eyebrows drew together.

“I know it,” she shrugged, finally turning over to face him.

“Are you certain?”

“I might lose it,” she swallowed, lowering her gaze with the feeling of grief beginning to boil in her stomach. “That’s why I haven’t said anything.”

Dany turned away from him, looking over the edge of her bed for her small cloths when his hand gently grasped at her forearm.

“Why–”

“I can’t have children,” she lamented.

“Do you want to go to the red–”

“No,” she snapped, and he flinched. “I don’t want another witch near me, and you have another raven from the West.”

When she got to her feet to retrieve her sack, Dany felt his seed traveling down her legs. She swallowed before kneeling to open the pouch that held at least four messages and then tossed it at him.

“Did you read it?” Jon inquired.

“No.”

“Do you wish to?”

“No,” she responded honestly. She wanted to hear nothing about or of anybody from Westeros anymore.

“Do you want me to leave?” Jon whispered.

Dany did not hear him stand, but she felt him coming up behind her. He placed his palms on her shoulders and brought her up from the ground. Her eyes were red because she knew what would happen next. They'd both known for a while now. The West was unrelenting and resolute in their quest for him. He would have to go back. And _no,_ she did not wish for him to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every time I publish a chapter, I realize I change the position of Dany's wound so there is a goof for you. Nobody's perfect hahaha AND if you see mistakes, look away, I re-edited this last-minute heavily so I don't know how many continuity errors there are. I just need the main points of; Harlen basically acts like a boy perpetually trapped in the middle of a divorce but his mom is his favorite, if Jon doesn't go back–then they have a fear that more men will come, Jon is not dumb and knows his family is just as corrupt and Dany understands now that if he cares and chooses to not be cold then he will have to act like a hero again, they actually love each other and are kind of obsessed with being the only people hurting each other, and that she's pregnant–to get through. If that's shown, then we are good. That's all you need to take away at this point–in case some of you are confused. I haven't had a chance to check the comments yet because I'm writing Howl but here you go <3
> 
> I'd love a nice heart in the comments for all of the stress and plotting I do for these fics! It's always nice to know when someone enjoys something you like doing <3


	19. So Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the beautiful @aliciutza.
> 
> Here is a sprinkle of s8 trauma <3

**C.19**

_**So Far** _

Jon's POV

He needed Ghost… or Ghost was calling him. Jon wasn’t sure. But it was the only reason why he would endure the journey from east to west.

It was the first time in a little over two years that he and Dany had been separated for more than a few moons. He worried for her but the howl that recurred in his dreams told him he needed to return.

He knew he could not start anew when he had a past that was unfinished; one that lurked behind every corner, or one that sat atop the peaks of the Meereenese pyramids. Everything he would do would send him hurtling backward if he wasn’t careful, and she didn’t deserve it. She’d done too much good for him, only for him to have it end bad; because what started badly, would end badly. 

He wrote to her; every night for every day he was on the ship. But he knew he would never send the letters. She wouldn’t care because in the end for _them_ words were wind. 

But still, his thoughts about her were countless. He missed the way she smelled, the way her nose would crinkle when he pointed at a chicken to butcher, the way she would laugh whenever him and Harlen sparred and the boy dropped his long sword to yield, or the way she would smile when the boy would best him with a short sword or a spear. He really missed her cooking and the tea she would make him when she knew he was upset, and how her white hair looked fresh out of the bath after seeing it a faded blue for days. And most of all, he missed being in her arms, the taste of her skin, and the way she would wrap around him and moan his name. 

He hated to go.

He hated being scared that she would not be there when he returned–or that she would take their child and run from him…. Because who would want to stay with _him_? Especially after everything he’d done.

He had to be a monster because if she was truly as bad as his nightmares made her out to be, then he had to be even worse to kill her. And though he would walk to the other end of Essos for her, stumble readily through the streets of singing witches, step through ruins filled with cursed stone voluntarily, and fight off any man that would stand in his way, he still knew that what they did was not _right_. They buried into each other when the world became too much to bear, fucked away their emotions, and dismissed any thought of others unless it was something they wished to hear or from people they wanted to hear from. 

Davos and Gendry’s ravens were the only ones he opened since Tormund hardly wrote. And they were usually sent together, one message on one side of the parchment and the other–on the other side. They rarely updated him on anything other than the boats Davos commissioned and the smithy… 

Gendry still made weapons in his spare time, beautiful weapons… Jon had gotten a small drawing of the sword Gendry was working on, and he fell in love again. They rarely spoke about anything else–other than a casual mention like, “Sansa desired more from my lands during trade this moon” from Gendry, “The Maesters are being little strange with Bran nowadays but he has a new chair that he can roll on his own” and “Your sister left port but not without commenting that the finishings on her boat were lovelier than the ones on mine” from Davos. It was how they subtly let him know that his family was well.

It was not that he wanted to ignore Sam, Bran, Tyrion, or Sansa… no–that was a lie. He wanted their silence and lacked the patience to read whatever they would say… He just needed _quiet_. He needed to feel that he was not a mistake or a waste… that his entire life was not just meant to be him growing up with feeling like he was his father’s walking mistake, or being a secret prince whose mother and true father tore apart a realm for their love, or a person that kills without honor, a liar, a queenslayer, a kinslayer…

They made him _feel_ ashamed. He knew that he shouldn’t feel that way–and his mind reasoned with itself many nights but when he thought about his family, his insides churned. 

He _felt_ wrong. 

They toasted him on the things that he hated most about himself. They praised the parts of him that got people killed. And they _still_ didn’t fucking get it. They would never get it. And they refused to stop speaking on it, though he supposed, they had little else to speak upon.

Were he and Tyrion Lannister still supposed to talk about how they were cast out while growing up? _No_. Not when the other man was Hand of a king and he was the heir to the Iron Throne. Were he and Sam supposed to speak about the women they love? No–Gilly had babes and is living happily. He had killed Dany.

Bran and Sansa were lost causes. One was like talking to a ghost and the other a stone wall. When Dany asked which was which, he honestly couldn’t even answer.

And then Grey Worm returned, which made him feel worse.

Dany received missives from her former commander stating he was coming to protect her a fortnight before Jon was set to leave… and while that did not please Jon, he understood that it made her happy that the other man still looked to her with fondness and care. They never stopped sending messages after that… even after Dany told him that it wasn’t necessary for him to guard her because she would be safe with Harlen. But the Unsullied commander did not take no for an answer and would arrive a few days after Jon left to the West...  

Every day he was away, he felt he was losing her and then he wondered if this is how she felt ten years ago; put out and unimportant. He felt like he was losing memory of them being real while confined on the ship. And he knew that she was hiding something. It was one of the few things that also nagged at his thoughts. But she was an enigma; a woman wrapped in red mystery. She could ooze charm if she wanted, feign innocence when she was being difficult, completely snap and her eyes blaze with fire, or she could go blank. It was like she was delicate porcelain and bitter steel combined. How does one attempt to meddle with that?

In the depth of her eyes, he could see flames and while the fire kept him warm it also kept him on guard. What if she chose to come back to Westeros? What if she was planning revenge?

The thoughts of once again, being in between the woman he loved, and his siblings made him walk the shadowy corridors of her compound until the sun arose. What would he do? He would not leave her again, but Jon would be lying if he said that his nightmares did not contain faint images of Arya’s braid wiping around streets–running through ashes, or Sansa’s flushed ivory skin completely gray and lifeless.

He wished she would tell him everything that was in her head… because there were nights where she looked at him, and she looked like a phantom.

Jon prayed… _often_ –to which gods? All of them; the old gods and the new, R’hllor, and the drowned god–that they would be alright. 

Tucking the chain Dany gave him into his tunic, Jon signed the letter that he would not send with all his love and sealed it with wax, stamping it with the letters _J_ and _S_ instead of a sigil. He tucked the message into a chest, took out the ring that haunted him since Asshai, and locked the box before putting it into a sack and shoving it in his ship’s wardrobe.

Jon sighed and twisted the band around his finger.

He had been docked for some time in the port furthest from the castle, gathering his bearings before he threw on a black jerkin and strapped Longclaw to his waist.

Giving one final look to his cabin, he made his way above deck, off the boat, and towards the castle with nothing but his weapon and _Danger_ , Harlen’s usual mount.

Though King’s Landing had been rebuilt from the ground up, the streets felt eerie. The people that now resided in the city were still being deprived of truth, but Jon supposed that he was just cursed with knowing too much. 

Their quality of living improved, that was obvious. And that was why he suffered, wasn’t it? So that others wouldn’t have to. He bore the weight so that they didn’t. He fought the Great War so they could live. He killed his love in case she had been truly mad.

They shouldn’t have known who he was, but they did… and they looked at him like they saw a god. _Nothing changed._  

He was in the stories and probably in songs too. Jon assumed they recognized him by the black leather, the curls, and the wolf pommel that rested to his left–because Ned Stark had not been dishonorable to his lady wife, Rhaegar Targaryen was not a rapist, and Jon had gone from nothing to the true king. He was walking history, a great story, a better story than Tyrion Lannister had been trying to tell and what Sam and the men at the Citadel had written.

That much was true by the hushed words. 

 _Apparently spoken tales were more powerful than they thought._ He knew there had been talk all throughout the south and north a while back but seeing that such stories were still whispered annoyed him. _Words were fucking wind_. There were better things for them to mind than his business.

Perhaps he should have left Longclaw, Jon thought as people once again eyed him in both terror and awe.

 _The greatest swordsman in Westeros_ , they murmured. _The northern savior._ Jon swallowed his unease. _Defender of the realm_. He gritted his teeth. _Queenslayer._ It made him sick.

 _Kinslayer._ Jon kept his eyes ahead. 

As he neared the reconstructed castle, the hairs on his arms stood. 

The walls on the outer city were built for a better siege–Jon could see that there were ballistas remade, but not many.

 _For Drogon in case he decided to pay the West a visit…_ he thought.

He would tell her that, he decided. If she asked him, he would tell her. 

 _Gods_ , he did not want to go further. Jon almost wished he had sent a raven asking to meet somewhere barren of his mistakes. Therefore, not Kings Landing, not Dragonstone, not Dorne, not Castle Black, not Eastwatch, and certainly not Winterfell.

He should have sailed to Stormlands.

Jon’s throat started to tighten as the guards opened another gate.

He hated the south. 

He hated the smell.

He hated the fact that the woman he loved had burnt it down to its bones.

 _Aegon Targaryen_ , he heard before he entered. And he hated that he no longer cared.

Jon could feel the void returning as he got to the main entrance.

With blurry eyes, he noticed ravens perched along the rampart as he dismounted. There was an obscene amount of them; dark and with beady eyes.

Blinking, the guards motioned to take his stallion and for him to enter. He was taken into the Keep.

Jon turned the ring on his finger again.

Steady breaths evaded him as he began walking through the familiar corridors that repeatedly entered his night terrors, and into the hall that haunted him.

His brother was in his wheelchair not too far from the spot _her_ body laid in, speaking with Arya, Bronn of High Garden, Tyrion Lannister, and _Sansa_.

The guard announced his arrival.

They all looked up.

It was quiet for a few heartbeats until he noticed Arya’s lips stretch into a light smile, “You actually came?” 

Jon thought about kneeling again but dismissed it quickly and offered his formalities.

“Missives were sent… an absurd amount of them.” He looked between Bran and Sansa who were chiefly responsible.

“We were worried,” Sansa was the first to step forward, but Jon took a step back as Tyrion threw a nervous look towards his little brother and the Master of Coin.

Jon wished to roll his eyes as Bronn squinted, nodded, and walked to the room behind where the throne used to be.

Who was _he?_ Jon momentarily wanted to ask but decided against it.

Straightening up, he took a few strides as Arya abandoned restraint and shot toward him. She wasn’t much taller, but she was a woman grown now. And perhaps she was before as well, but he kept himself in deep denial. 

She had filled out from her bony frame since the last time he saw her, which made the impact of her hug dizzying. Still, he lifted her gently, squeezing her waist until she gave a slight yelp. And then she hit him until she was lowered down.

Glaring with wet eyes, her lips curled into a small frown, and then a bigger smile that Jon saw didn’t quite reach her eyes.

His heart ached as she tucked a stray long dark curl behind her ear.

Sansa’s steps were more careful as she wheeled Bran forward. 

“I can see,” Jon responded to his other sister, as Arya positioned herself on his side. 

“What are you doing in the south?” Jon’s brows furrowed as he took in Sansa’s dusty grey gown that was fitted for the warmer weather, and the direwolf crown that sat perched on her head–framed by two braids.

Jon supposed she had won her victory long ago. But neither his true attention was to her, nor the question… it was for Arya, which he made known with how he turned towards his youngest sister.

Her face lost all of its fat and her eyes were marked with some age. She would be twenty and eight now, after all.

“Bran told me you were coming, and then he sent for me knowing that I’d wish to see you,” she smiled wider and a bit sheepishly. “I missed you.”

Jon could feel his chest constrict.

He turned the ring around his finger again. _Don’t get distracted._

They had not left on the best of terms. However, her stare held a deeper sadness than he remembered. 

Jon could not look at her any longer, but quietly stated, “I miss you too” before turning back to his other two siblings.

Bran’s eyes were distant, and Sansa’s were troubled. She stepped around Bran to stand in front of Jon and in doing so, Jon would have to respond with a bow or kneel of sorts. 

He did not do what she expected… Jon stepped forward and kissed her cheek, because she was his sister not his queen, and then bent over to quickly kiss Bran’s forehead because he was his little brother, not his king.

“Tyrion,” he acknowledged peering around.

The man started walking forward, “Snow.”

And that was how it was to the imp. He was just Jon Snow, whose history was just as unimportant as a wildling _to them_ , and just like a wildling, Jon refused to fucking bow _again_. 

They treated him like he was a bastard as default and an heir only when convenient. 

Tyrion saw the obstinacy in his eyes. “His Grace-”

“ _Jon_ ,” Sam walked in, interrupting.

Swallowing back his emotions, Jon forced a smile and turned from his family and the half-man as his mate took quick steps forward with Ser Brienne, Ser Podrick Payne, and Ser Bronn on his heels.

“Hello,” Jon started as his friend neared.

Neither reached for a hug, so Jon stuck out his hand in polite greeting just as Gendry appeared by the door looking as if he had just arrived.

“Am I late?” he questioned, his voice winded.

“No,” Jon responded and gestured towards the group of people that had just entered. Tyrion motioned for everyone to take their spots as Davos appeared, shifting his sword belt.

Jon finally smiled happily. The man was impossibly greyer but still had life in his demeanor.

Before he started to move toward the old man, Gendry pulled him into an embrace before staring into his dark eyes. When he seemed pleased with what he saw he took a step back and glanced at Arya. “Milady,” he muttered, his eyes downcast before he stated further formalities to what Jon figured would be the council he was speaking to for the day.

 _Odd_ , Jon took note at the way Arya avoided meeting his mate’s stare.

“Had to leave Tula and the babe to see you,” Gendry threw at him.

Jon wished to say he wasn’t worth it but before he could Davos smirked. “A son. He had a son,” the man pursed his lips to hide mirth as he approached and gripped his shoulder, slapping his cheek with his right hand and grinned. 

Relief filled him. Davos wasn’t upset with him.

“My father used to say war was easier than daughters…”

Jon tried not to glance back at Sansa and Arya to reminisce together.

“No babe is easy, I can tell you that much,” Gendry gave him a dramatic pained expression. “You should come meet him–”

“Stay in the south longer?” Jon queried with an arched brow.

Gendry huffed out a laugh before moving towards the front of the room, waving after Davos. The older man followed, and Jon turned to watch them go to the vacant seats placed at the front of the room.

Jon felt like he was finally attending the trial he never had ten years prior. But still, he knew people were missing so he wondered if those that came, were not actually summoned and appeared because they wanted to.

He twisted the band on his finger again. _They are not your friends. They are politicians._

Ser Brienne and Arya stood behind Sansa, Ser Payne and Sam behind Bran, Bronn and Tyrion beside each other, and then Gendry motioned for Davos to take his seat instead.

“I wanted you to meet her, Tula,” he meant, hesitating slightly. “But travelin' ain’t all that safe right now since he's so little,” Gendry continued as Bran raised his hand to the guard for more chairs.

“Aye?” Jon asked absentmindedly watching the guards mind their king’s orders. “How's married life?” 

“She's _‘disgustingly’_ kind and open…” Gendry gave a fond smile. “Can't complain.” 

“Disgustingly kind?” Jon’s attention was caught… it was a big word and a queer phrasing.

Gendry nodded, taking a chair from one of the men and put it next to Davos.

When his mate sat, he deadpanned, “I have six cats and four hounds. If I didn't give her a kid, we would have taken in a whole _bloody_ orphanage.”

Davos let out a hoot of laughter and even Sansa and Tyrion smirked.

“ _Six?_ ” Jon mouthed. 

“Four hounds?” Sansa leaned forward.

Gendry made a face, “I told her there is a reason why street cats are called street cats, and it's because they belong in the fucking street…”

“Now they are Baratheon cats… the most royal of their species,” Jon jested dryly.

Gendry pointed at him, not laughing unalike Davos.

“Funny,” Gendry said sardonically. “Leave the West and now you have bad jokes?”

“Aye,” Jon agreed, awkwardly looking down as he was finally brought a seat.

“You look well.” _Tyrion_. “I was expecting a longer beard and more hair.”

“I had to cut it. It is too hot in Essos,” Jon stated plainly.

“So, come back north…” came Sansa’s voice.

And now it was time to begin.

He twirled the ring, steeling himself. His eyes became hard and his face impassive as he leaned back into his chair. Jon let the void come and chose to believe that his sister’s words were a joke in order for annoyance to not appear on his face.

“You like it there?” Sam asked softly.

“Do you really care?” he did not mean to sound so rough, so, Jon sighed. “C’mon, ask me what you want so we can get a move on it,” he nodded towards Tyrion and Bran.

“Jon…” It was Sansa that started and then gave up. She fixed her features, contemplating her next words. All of the humor from the previous conversation was wiped from her face... And Arya looked as unamused as she did when Gendry began speaking. “When did you leave the Wall?”

“The week after you left…”

“Why did you not tell Tormund?” Sansa continued.

“ _I did_ ,” Jon stated.

“Then he lied to us,” she frowned.

“He’s a good mate,” Jon said, and it was in warning. Although he held no authority over them, Jon still ordered, “Don’t go running your mouth to him. I was vague about it. I only said that I was leaving but I know he knew where it was that I was going.”

“How long are you staying over there?” Sam did not hold eye contact.

“Indefinitely.”

“What have you been doing over there?” asked Gendry. He was the only person whose face held some sort of amusement.

“Keeping warm.”

“Working?” Davos probed curiously.

“Not really.” And Jon saw Gendry shake his head and whisper to Davos, “ _Rich fucking Starks._ ”

“We saw you training for a while…” Tyrion said but amended that it was Bran.

“I like to stay in shape.” _For what_? Jon could see that they wanted to query.

“Why hasn’t she killed you?” his brother’s empty voice finally broke through.

“I wish I understood, so, I can’t tell you.”

“What was it like when you saw each other?” Arya leaned forward.

“ _Traumatizing_.”

Arya wasn’t satisfied with the answer, but she should have been more specific.

“What has she been up to?” Bronn spoke.

“Can you not see _her_?” Jon turned his head to his brother, his brow furrowed, and lips curled. 

Bran’s expression perplexed him. _Can he no longer find her? The ballistas were positioned… Could he no longer follow Drogon?_

“Don’t ask me about her life. If you wish to inquire after her, send her a message,” Jon clipped.

There were a few noises of disapproval, but Jon’s glare never left his brother while he thumbed the signet.

“How about, does she know you are here?” Sam revised. 

“Aye.” 

Bran’s eyes finally flickered away. _Something’s wrong with him..._

“Was she fine with you coming here?” asked Arya, disrupting his thought.

Jon sighed, “Define, _‘fine.’_ ” 

_“You are going to have to return,” Dany looked to the ceiling to avoid his eyes._

_Together they lied in bed one dawn. She was starting to show more, and he was nervous. Nervous about the babe, nervous about his family, nervous that once he and she settled as a family that guilt for ignoring his other one would corrupt him._

_“Aye,” he pulled the blanket further up his body, covering his scar ridden chest._

_“When you leave, do not come back.” The order slipped from her lips and across his skin like poison._

_“Pardon,” Jon’s head snapped to her._

_“Did I stutter?” she tossed off the sheets and stood, her bare back to him._

_“Why?” The voice that came from him was smaller than he liked. They needed to be passed this. At least he’d hoped for them to be passed this, especially with his babe in her belly._

_They were doing well._

_He knew that she did not wish for him to leave._

_“ **Why**?” she mimicked, her voice incredulous as she slipped on a shift and disappeared into the wardrobe. “So, you can come back and assassinate me?” he heard her from his position on the bed._

_“W-what?” Jon stuttered, standing and walking around the bed. “Do you hear yourself?” He would never…_

**_The_ ** _dagger flew from the small room and landed in front of his feet._

_Jon froze._

_“You have done it before.”_

_Silence filled the air and he couldn’t stop staring at it. She’d kept it. She’d kept it for ten years. She’d–_

_He felt ill as darkness crawled in his skin. Any wound that he thought was healed was instantly slashed agape._

_Dany walked out of the other room with another knife, but he didn’t notice because his gaze was firmly planted on the one that he used to kill her._

_“That isn’t fair,” Jon said to himself, his voice faint and devastated. He hugged the sheet he’d wrapped around his hips tighter, his fist curving into balls. He felt split open._

_He was shaking._

_“Fair? **Fair**?” she scoffed. _

_The sun was rising but he didn’t notice. They were up because they liked to watch it together, but that didn’t matter anymore._

_“My child is in your belly,” Jon whispered. He loved her. They had created something together. They–_

_“Is that the only reason you haven’t? Is that my worth?”_

_“Dany–” he tore his gaze away from the weapon and finally saw her holding her own. It was dragon glass, Jon could tell._

_“Don’t,” she shook her head._

_He hesitated before he stepped over the dagger and took strong strides to let her know that he was coming._

_She still shrunk back, “Do not.”_

_“What is wrong?” Jon asked desperately. “Tell me what is going on in your head…”_

_The plea fell from his tongue in a way that almost deflated her resolve. He reached out to her, but she only pushed back… She didn’t seem to like his comfort when she was upset but Jon knew it was in those times that she required it the most. He’d learned that the hard way years ago._

_“One of the last times you spoke to your family, they told you that you were my nephew and you refused to touch me,” she spat, and Jon winced. “The next time you spoke to your family…” she paused, and Jon could hear her sharply inhale. “Th-that time–gave your sister all she needed to destroy me. She single-handedly led my advisement to stop believing in me.”_

_Jon knew she had been right. Her fate was sealed the moment his secret was revealed. The moment words of his true birth were uttered, it ruined her. Not because of his claim, but because of power. Power corrupts. It had always been funny to him… that the people who did the least ended up with the most, while both him and her were broken._

_“Your father, Ned Stark… he had assumed correctly, you know? He knew that the revelation of you being a Targaryen Prince would end up being the death of many,” she turned around. “Two decades of secrecy, and he had been right. Many died because that secret was told.”_

_Her eyes were pink, and he was still shaking._

_Her words haunted him to this day… ‘You can say nothing, to anyone, ever. Or it will take on a life of its own and you won’t be able to control it or what it does to people.’ She knew this just as his father knew it three decades ago._

_Guilt hit him like a tidal wave, and he felt himself grasping for anything that could pull him up from the feeling of drowning. He did not want to be **this** ; the heir… Once—perhaps, but when he understood the weight of power, he never wanted to be in the position of it again. He didn’t want to be the prince. He didn’t want to be king. He didn’t want his father to keep that secret for him, even if his mother pleaded. Most of the time, Jon just wished that he’d never been born. Maybe if so, none of this would have happened._

_But of course, if that were the case, then perhaps the entirety of Westeros would be living nothing but one never-ending winter. And then the dark thought that maybe it would have been better crossed him._

_“One of the last times you spoke to my former Hand, you conspired to murder me—”_

_“Dany, I had no intention of taking your life after speaking to Tyrion Lannister—”_

_“And yet, you did,” she bit, raging. “What has changed? Have **we** changed?”_

_With her lips curled, Jon thought about just bowing his head in shame, but deep sadness filled him, alongside pride._

_“Beyond belief.”_

_“No, we haven’t!” Dany shook her head, laughing bitterly. “I will **always** defend my own.” Her eyes held a dark promise. “No matter what. And you will always be honorable Jon, of House Stark–” And he knew that was why she loved him too._

_“Dany listen to me—” he took quick steps to her, tired, and reaching out._

_“Do not fucking touch me, Jon Snow,” she screamed, and he did not move fast enough when she swung her hand, so it swiped cleanly across his chest._

_Almost immediately blood began dripping from it._

_He didn’t react, only looked down, staring at the red oozing out of his skin and down his stomach. It wasn’t sickening that there was blood. **Of course not.** It was sickening how much seeing his own no longer affected him._

_Suddenly small hands came into his view… **her hands**. She bunched up the long ends of her thin nightdress and began pressing into his wound._

_“No.”_

_Jon glanced at her and tears were falling harshly against her pink cheeks, “ **No**.” Her body trembled. “No. No.” Her voice shattered. “Oh gods, you are bleeding. **No**.” Her face was wet with blood from attempting to clear the haziness from her eyes. “I am sorry. I am so sorry.”_

_Still pressing her palms against him, she repeated, “I am so so sorry-”_

_“It’s fine–Dany, it’s fine,” he finally winced, feeling the sting. “It is just a scratch–”_

_She recoiled but he caught her and her bloodied gown._

_“Please–please do not say that. Please–” It was the most hopeless her voice sounded. And they had many nights where despair was their closest companionship. “It’ll get infected. It–It must hurt–”_

_“Aye,” Jon agreed. “The cut is pretty awful too.”_

_Their eyes connected and he was certain their desolation was a mirror. He could see himself in her, face drawn together in misery, while her eyes glossed over in grief._

_“Dany, tell me what is wrong.”_

_“My first husband said that to me and then he died weeks later...”_

_Jon frowned, “It will be fine… we are doomed to live anyways.”_

Subconsciously, he rubbed the part of his chest that held the scar. 

“You are not happy with who you are–what you did… you truly regret doing it, don’t you?” Tyrion’s face contorted into something… Jon could not describe it.

“Ten years later…” he nodded. “Every woman that I have loved has died in my arms because of me.” He leaned forward, his eyes low but dark and full of profound woe. “I have watched the light leave their eyes and their pulse weaken under my fingers… I am so far from who I wanted to be, and it doesn’t matter now.”

There was fear in the half man’s eyes. 

Jon almost wished to know why but he didn’t care. Tyrion should fear him.

“You love her again?” _Sam_.

Jon stared incredulously. “ _Again_? I never stopped.”

“She’s mad,” Sansa stared at him, fear of betrayal seeping into her expression. 

If she was not certain prior that Jon would not be staying, he could see that realization dawned on her now.

Ser Brienne put a hand on his younger sister.

Jon sat back. 

He wasn’t offended and he wasn’t angry at the statement. He was just _amused,_ and he let that be known.

“So, what does that make me?” he asked smoothly. “You know when you told Tyrion, and Tyrion told Varys… Varys told me that he was certain about which side the coin fell on; _greatness_ , but I’m not so certain.”

Jon licked his bottom lip and glanced at Tyrion who’s face held dread. 

“I spent the last–nearly a decade, of my life smelling ash, hearing the screams of all the men that have died because of me, _for me_ , recalling seeing my men rape women in the streets–” his voice almost broke. 

He twisted the ring again.

Jon knew very well that his men had lacked discipline, and that was a fault he felt lied with him and his leadership. 

“I remember the look of complete trust fade away from the eyes of the ones I’ve held closest to me. That doesn’t sound like greatness, does it?” Jon turned to Sam and then to Arya. “But I’m better now, knowing that someone I love suffers less knowing that I’m around.”

“Jon–” Arya stood from her seat with gloominess on her face.

“Do not pity me,” he snapped at her. “I’m fine.” And he meant it.

“Are you happy?” His youngest sister treaded toward him.

“I am as close as I can get to that, _aye_.”

“Is she pregnant?” All of their heads turned to Bran. _Maybe he could see her._

“Yes.”

“She said she couldn’t have children…” said Tyrion tartly.

Jon's vision blurred. The half man’s tone made him want to kick the legs of the other man’s chair and watch him stumble to his knees as the seat collapsed. He could almost see the blood that would ooze out of his skull if Jon decided to bang it on the stone ground.

“Well she died and came back to life. That changes people,” Jon shrugged, hiding his thoughts with so much more ease than he thought he was capable of.

“Why did you come?” Jon could see the frustration appearing on his red-headed sister’s cheeks.

“To get Ghost,” he responded.

“Do you think she’s going to come back here?” This time it was Davos, and Jon offered an apologetic look.

“I sure hope not. I hardly wanted to.”

“Will you stop her if she decides to?”

It didn’t matter who asked the question because his response was the same.

“ _Are you asking me,_ or are you asking me?” 

Jon took a moment to look from left to right. Sam sat at the very edge, then Lady Brienne, Sansa, Arya, and Bran. Ser Payne still stood behind his brother with a worried expression. Tyrion’s eyes closed, and Bronn leaned forward in annoyance at his right. Gendry looked indifferent next to Davos who sat beside the Lord of High Garden.

Although he had no intention of returning to the true north to stay, he still asked his brother, testing them, “Will you send me to the Wall or am I free to go, _Your Grace_?”

Silence.

“May I ask a question now… before I leave?” Jon took a deep breath, rising to his feet.

Podrick stood straighter, hand to his weapon. 

As Jon approached Bran, he finally pulled the ring off his finger. “What the fuck is this?” He threw it at his brother's lap.

Before Brienne could rise, Jon hissed to the guards he felt approaching, “Stand down.”

There were six men in the room besides the ones in front of him. Jon was still a soldier. He knew war. He knew what it was to be taken, to have people plot your death, what war felt like, to plot someone else's death, and to be both leader and civilian. He knew what the expressions of those who were threatened by him would look like now. And he knew that there were two guards by the entrance and one on each side of the rooms beside the pillars. One had a scar on his face, another’s lips had been curled since he walked in, and two had a helm on. And none of them scared him.

Silence.

 _It is what you wanted, isn’t it?_ a voice in the back of his head taunted. He _had_ wanted their silence. It felt good but he still wanted answers.

“Tell me, did you send them to kill her or me?”

“It wasn’t to kill anyone–” Sansa started before Arya cut her off.

“What is he even talking about?” his youngest sister snapped wildly.

“So, you did this?” Jon turned to Sansa.

“No, I–”

“So, who sent them and why?” He did not have time to hear her clever excuses.

“Where are they?” Tyrion cut in. 

_The crown did send them._

_Bran sent them._

_He can’t see us._

“Dead in a ditch somewhere,” Jon scoffed, dismissively.

“She had them killed?” _Bronn._

“ _No_ ,” Jon said incredulously. “ _I_ slit their throats. Who the hell are _you_?” Rhetorical. 

He did not understand how a sellsword could end up Master of Coin.

“Bronn of–”

“I do not care, actually,” Jon waved him off. Gendry’s snicker would have made him smile if it weren’t for the fact that nobody was confirming what he knew and that his own siblings were looking at him as if he had gone insane. “Why are all these people here if my brother and sister sent missives minding after my well-being?”

“Are we speaking as siblings or is this _political_ because it seems political,” Sansa grinded her teeth. “ _She_ is using you.”

“Please Sansa,” he bit, disbelievingly. “You have been _politically_ using me since you came to the Wall–”

The words fell past his lips and even Lady Brienne did not hold his sister back when she rose to her feet with venom in her eyes. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

Jon supposed he deserved it but the void in his chest stopped him from caring.

“What has she used me for?” he asked, entirely too numb to care about the hurt on his sister’s face. “Tell me what did she fucking gain from me?” Jon turned to Tyrion before looking back at his absent faced younger brother. “If I end up dead in the East, so be it.” Pointing at the signet in Bran’s lap. “Don’t ever fucking do that shit again.”

They should have had his head on a spike–but they knew... if he ended up dead, the city would be in flames before the moon ended. 

Jon left with nothing but the echo of Arya’s voice calling after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the first chapters I had written for this story. And when I tell you "if he ended up dead, the city would be in flames before the moon ended" was one of my favorite lines of all time to write, I mean it. This is one of my most personally anticipated chapters because I loved the process of writing this. The song that inspired this and the story was So Far by Olafur Arnalds.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this. There were a lot of people that were waiting for this a while back, so there it is. Hope you guys are still here! Leave a nice comment for me <3  
> love you guys, Angel.


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